


The Pines Often Whisper

by aplacetoland



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, And Then A Lot Of Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Bottom Dutch van der Linde, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Curious Couple and Their Unruly Son centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Hosea Matthews Lives, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Protective Hosea Matthews, Slow Burn, Smut, The non-con is not between characters in the relationship list, Vandermatthews Centric, Will Not Stress That Tag Enough, almost everyone lives, but still, literally so much fluff, still updating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26371066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aplacetoland/pseuds/aplacetoland
Summary: Dutch’s paranoia starts to get the best of him. Arthur decides to help.(OR, a series of chronological one-shots about the curious couple and their unruly son.)
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Van der Linde Gang, Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 36
Kudos: 98





	1. Exit Pursued By Injury (Enter: A Promise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Did I hear a thunder?  
>  Did I hear you break?  
> I can't quite remember  
> Just what guided me this way,  
> \- D'Angelo_  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! So, I originally wanted to post a couple of one-shots about my sweet babies (the old guard), and eventually such one-shots spurred into drabbles that sort of pieces itself together into a chronological fic. It focuses more on character study and interaction (how I see these characters interact on an emotional, romantic level), and although while plot is prevalent, I really just wanted an excuse to write some soft cowboys.
> 
>  **Heavy Warning** : There is so much goddamned fluff in this fic. I grew so tired of seeing a constant manipulative, toxic Dutch instead of a broken, scared man on the mental struggle bus who loves his family but is horrified of losing them. I wanted to focus on vulnerability and emotion, and highlight them as part of these "drabbles".
> 
> These chapters can be relatively short, or relatively lenghty. It's still in the works, but I have the first couple of chapters completed, and I really wanted to get this out to my followers as a thank you for 100 on my Tumblr. <3 (A milestone for me!)
> 
> All sources and credit will be posted at the end notes of each chapter, if there are any. 
> 
> While Arthur/Charles is a ship within these chronological drabbles, it is not the main focus. I really wanted to make a fanfiction that stemmed from the relationship between Arthur and his adoptive fathers, because it means the world to me. 
> 
> **aplacetoland on Tumblr.**
> 
> Please enjoy! These chapters are my babies.
> 
> NOTE: This work is unbeta'd. I will do my best to fix all typos and issues before the chapter is posted. Updates will hopefully occur every week, either on Wednesdays or Saturdays, in hopes of keeping some sort of schedule.

“I know it ain’t the best of work, but Strauss thinks you’re the man for the job, son.” Dutch’s hand was extended, resting on Arthur’s shoulder, grip beguiling as ringed fingers had tightened in the slightest. It appeared as if van der Linde’s gripe had grown heavier over the years, with underlying baggage and an uncertainty directed towards Arthur. His fingertips held doubt that spurred Arthur to feel qualms of his own, to melt down to his core in front of Dutch and offer anything that he needed. How could he not? The man had fathered him since he was just thirteen years old.

Arthur scanned Dutch’s face, releasing a soft grumble of mild complaint as they stood amidst the grounds of Horseshoe Overlook. It meant little to Dutch and scarcely aided his case, despite Arthur not being much of one to say no. Strauss’ debt work was certainly nothing Arthur wished to be involved in. He opened his mouth to speak, to grunt in gainsay and head back to his cot for a couple hours of rest, but another familiar voice flooded his ears, one that calmed him more than most.

“Hello, boys.” Hosea greeted as he approached, rolling block rifle in hand, polished likely from him cleaning it thoroughly with a decent amount of gun oil. He had a glint in his eyes, one of rising enthusiasm, as if he contained incredible news for the both of them. Matthews had been the level-headed advisor for Dutch for years – For the both of them, really, as Hosea had supported and assisted Arthur like a son since the near-start. He remembered Hosea being hesitant from the beginning in taking in Morgan, but over the years had grown softer and warmer with his adoptive son, easing him through the nights of violent nightmares and nursing his wounds when harmed. Arthur wasn’t sure where he’d be without him. “You wanna go hunting?”

“Me? Hunting?” Dutch’s next words were drowned out with laughter. “Fishing ain’t a problem, Hosea, but we both know I haven’t been hunting since… Well, quite a time.”

Arthur had already been latching on to something to avoid Strauss’ request, so he was swift to warm up to the idea. His stare had caught Hosea’s rifle first, however. “What’re you hunting? An elephant?”

Hosea laughed, too, and Arthur’s chest settled at the sound. “I wish. No, I saw a bear. Must have been a thousand pounds. Figured the three of us take a trip, and a well-deserved break, for sure.”

“That all sounds good and well, Hosea, but who’s gonna watch the camp?” Dutch’s brow furrowed.

Hosea gave a small shrug. “We’ve been laying low for a while. John, Charles and Javier are plenty fine with a revolver. Would a couple of days hurt so bad?”

“I ain’t opposed.” Arthur glared at Dutch with silent hopefulness. “C’mon. You can’t be plannin’ _all_ day long, can you, Dutch?” He asked playfully. “That big ol’ brain of yours needs some rest eventually.”

Dutch’s lips twitched to smile, and he shifted his gaze between the both of them curiously. “Me and the old guard hunting, huh?” He chuckled again, and it was much more tender than his previous tone with Arthur, almost fonder. He exhaled gently, throwing a hand up after a moment, very much so giving in. It was hard not to with Hosea and Arthur on him about it. A couple of days wouldn’t be so bad. His hand, which was still on Arthur’s shoulder, smoothed down between his shoulder blades to rub soothingly before he removed his hands to rest one on his hip. “All right. I suppose the worst that can happen is Uncle drinkin’ himself silly.”

“One can only hope.” Arthur commented with the slightest amusement.

“Pack your bags.” Hosea said, clapping a hand on Dutch’s back, before starting towards his tent. The sun was close to falling behind the horizon. “We leave in the morning.”

* * *

“Where we headin’ exactly?” Arthur questioned as he brushed off his new horse, a beautiful white-speckled Thoroughbred with shaggy strands and clunky hooves. She was certainly no Boadicea, but she was a beauty, and would make the trip up North. It was where Arthur had assumed they’d be going.

“Up by the Dakota River.” Hosea explained, tightening the straps of his horse’s saddle, smoothing a hand over the stretch of Silver Dollar’s neck. “I reckon it’ll take us a day or two to arrive. If Dutch can handle it, that is.”

Dutch mounted the Count with a shake of his head in Hosea’s direction, grasping the reigns with a slight laugh. “Say all you’d like, old girl. I ain’t weak in the knees just yet.”

“Weak in the mind, maybe.” Hosea teased goodheartedly, and it earned a homely chuckle from Arthur, who followed after him once he mounted his horse and started onto the road out of camp.

Dutch seemed less amused, however. “That ain’t funny. You know I’ve been workin’ real hard to keep us on our feet–”

“Course you have. S’why we’re taking a break.” Arthur said in attempt to smooth the conversation. He knew Dutch could often take things to heart. “Give yourself some credit, Dutch. We’ve made it this far.”

“And we’ll keep moving.” Hosea reassured, starting to pick up the pace on his horse, not meaning to send Dutch too far with his words. “Come on. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us. Let’s stop in Valentine for some provisions before we go.”

* * *

At their brief pause in Valentine, Hosea had headed into the general store to give Arthur the option in either selling the Thoroughbred horse and buying another or keeping her for his own. Arthur had never been great at letting go of horses, especially after spending time with them, and so he chose to keep her, naming her a noble, ‘Ayla’. Hosea had read to him some time ago that it meant, ‘halo of light around the moon,’ in some silly, foreign language to Arthur, but Arthur, being the secret poetic type, had allowed it to stick within the walls of his brain. He thought it was fitting, and after naming her in front of Dutch, he thought so, too.

“Glad to see you’ve kept her,” Hosea said after some time on their ride, the air growing colder as they headed farther North. Arthur had chosen his winter gunslinger coat with some extra layers underneath, which he had shrugged on as soon as they had gone further than Emerald Ranch. It was a bit later in the day, and they had been riding for a while, the sun soon to set.

“Can’t keep a horse from Arthur for long.” Dutch replied, riding next to Hosea ahead, where Arthur rode not far behind.

“One day we ought to see into that journal of yours, you know.” Hosea chimed warmly, and he meant no harm in it. Arthur could read right into it, too.

“You’ll have to pry it from my dead body.” Arthur grumbled back. He always kept it stashed close to him within his satchel, and made sure it was never for anyone else to see. He didn’t really have much to hide, but it was a place where he could safely deposit his thoughts without judgement.

“That’ll be the day.” Dutch teased in return.

As they brought their horses up to a ridge, Hosea slowed to a stop. It overlooked the land they had just climbed up, the moonlight bathing the silhouetted trees and lighting the land below. “Perhaps we should stop and set up camp for the night.” Hosea said after a moment.

Dutch slowed the Count down, Arthur following after. There was mutual, silent agreement on that fact, as Arthur had begun to grow saddle-sore and would welcome the warmth of a bedroll. He brought himself off of Ayla, hushing her softly as he brushed a gloved hand over her neck, feeding her for the night. They had ridden a long time today, and he was certain she hadn’t been cut short of pulling wagons many days previously. “Gonna see if I can hunt somethin’ to eat for the night.” Arthur said, bringing a bow from his saddle as he turned to Dutch. “What about you, old man? You wanna brush up on your huntin’ skills with couple’a rabbits?” He asked playfully.

“Go, hunt with Arthur. I’ll set up camp.” Hosea offered, already beginning to set up a campfire.

“You boys plan on making fun of me all night?” Dutch asked, though his voice was light and held no hostility.

“And all day tomorrow.” Arthur beamed, nudging Dutch’s shoulder as he started down the small slope into open wilderness, van der Linde following after. “You been okay lately?”

Dutch’s brow furrowed as he turned to glance at him. “Why you ask, son?”

“Just askin’.” Arthur reassured. “Been a while, since it’s just been us. You, me, and Hosea, I mean.” He commented, voice lowering a bit as he slowed to lookout for any critters wandering about. “S’nice.”

“It is.” Dutch said in agreement, watching Arthur with an unknown expression. “I almost didn’t come today, too.”

“Well, we’re glad you did.” Arthur replied. “Don’t make no mistake of that.”

Dutch was silent, and Arthur was unable to take anything from it. He focused on hunting instead, eventually spotting a large hare nibbling at the grass, unaware of their presence for the moment. Arthur didn’t say anything, only nudging Dutch’s forearm to catch his attention.

“Watch and learn.” Arthur murmured, kneeling down as he readied his bow. He certainly wasn’t skilled with it, but Charles had taught him quite a bit, seeing as they had gone hunting together rather often. He lifted his weapon, gloves now removed as he steadied the arrow, squinting a bit with his aim. He released the arrow, sending it into the hare’s neck, who had little time to cry out at the impact.

“Look at that!” Dutch said as he shoved Arthur’s shoulder gently, and it was the most excited Arthur had seen him in a while. “I know you’re good with a gun, but you continue to impress me with your skill, son.”

Arthur shrugged in response, and he momentarily wondered if that’s all he had been to Dutch— A gun, an executioner, ready to follow him to the ends of the Earth and kill as he asked. Perhaps it was silly to think in such ways, but as times began to change, Arthur wasn’t all too sure what to think. “You wanna get your hands dirty?” He asked Dutch, heading towards the now-dead animal to lift it and remove the arrow. “You skin it.” He extended it towards Dutch.

“ _Me_?” Dutch asked, a bit shocked at the request.

“Big, scary Dutch can’t skin a rabbit?” Arthur responded playfully.

Dutch rolled his eyes, reaching out to take the animal. “Give it here.”

* * *

The next morning had rolled around fast, and they were on their horses once again to continue further up North into bear territory. Arthur had never been this far, nor had he ever appealed to the North and its mysteries, but it was beautiful at this time of day when the air was crisp and the weather was still.

They had ended up dismounting just off of the road by O’Creagh’s Run. Dutch removed his hat and scanned the area, reaching up to brush the strands he had missed with pomade back from his forehead before he placed his hat back on once again. “We finally here?” He asked curiously, and it was clear Dutch wasn’t used to long-duration hunting trips. Most times it had been Arthur or Charles hunting animals and bringing them back to camp for Pearson to cook without seasoning, and the ladies would always run into town for vegetables and other items needed.

“Think so. Let’s track a little. Search for some clues.” Hosea instructed, bringing his rifle from his saddle and making sure it was loaded. “I’ve got some predator bait ready. The bear will come around eventually.”

“And what’s to say we end up killing this bear?” Dutch asked curiously.

“Skin it.” Arthur replied with a shrug. “Dunno. Keep a trophy, take a memory.” He was more interested in simply seeing the bear, in all truth and honesty, but Hosea was keen on hunting the beast.

“Come on, boys.” Hosea said, starting towards the small area of raised land that seemed to begin a path into the mountains.

As they traveled, they found hints and tracks along the way— Paw prints, bear dung, and some fur caught within the soil and gravel. Hosea seemed to be growing more elated by the minute, already beginning to plant the predator bait by the nearest and freshest tracks and ushering Arthur and Dutch off behind some large boulders to give the scent some time to set.

“Reckon he’ll come?” Arthur asked, voice low.

“Eventually.” Hosea said, peeking over the rock every so often, clearly eager to see the beast sooner rather than later. “Maybe we ought to check that bait.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, but he followed after Hosea as Dutch hung behind the boulder. “We only just set it.” He reminded him, following Hosea to the small patch of grass they had planted it, and the both of them kneeled down around it.

“You got a knife?” Hosea asked, inspecting it.

“Course.” Arthur replied, handing it over to him.

Hosea starting to fiddle with the bait, but he seemingly tensed in an all-of-the-sudden movement. He was blinking up, past Arthur and over his shoulder, and Arthur had only noticed after a couple of seconds. “What is it?” Arthur asked, and his back had been turned, so he had risen much too fast— He turned in his step, and as he faced the other direction, his eyes widened at the sight of perhaps the biggest bear he’s ever seen. It was on its hind legs, coat littered in cuts, scars and bullet wounds. His sudden movement must have agitated the bear, and Arthur heard Hosea cry out as the bear swiped a paw forward, but it wasn’t Hosea yelping out in pain— The claws of the bear had been too fast for Arthur to reach for his revolver all of the way, and the impact of the deep wounds slicing down his chest in fours sent Arthur backwards, falling onto his bottom as the revolver slipped from his grip. The bear seemed ready to lunge again.

The sound of a gun shot flooded the air, zooming past Arthur and entering the side of the beast’s neck. And then another shot, and another, all from Dutch’s gun. By the fourth bullet, the bear growled out in fear and frustration as it turned, scampering up the path and into the mountains, out of sight.

Arthur’s head was spinning, the left side of his chest burning from the sharp claws that had dug through his clothing and into his skin. His gunslinger coat had prevented it from going deeper, but he was still bleeding profusely, and Dutch and Hosea were standing over him within seconds.

“My dear boy,” Dutch kneeled down, placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder to steady him, face contorted. “We never should have came on this damn trip.”

“You’re okay, Arthur,” Hosea started, taking Arthur’s face into his hands, trying to stabilize him from the obvious shock of the bear’s attack. “Come on, Dutch. We gotta get him back to camp.”

* * *

“M’fine.” Arthur huffed out softly as Hosea wrapped yet another bandage around the now cleaned but previously bloodied wounds. It most certainly hadn’t stopped bleeding all of the way just yet, and perhaps the extra bandage was needed, but Arthur didn’t feel the need to be treated like a kid. He had patched up plenty of injuries himself, and although the claw gashes definitely hurt like a goddamned son of a bitch, Arthur had experienced much worse before. They were sitting by the campfire as the sun licked the horizon to set, and Dutch readied some dinner for them to eat while Hosea tended to Arthur. Arthur’s shirt had been taken off, along with his coat, but Hosea urged him to bear through the cold a little longer so he’d be able to make sure nothing became infected.

“You’re not fine. You’ve nearly just been mauled by a bear.” Hosea pointed out with a soft grunt in response, shaking his head. “What is it with you boys and your adamant nature?”

“I ain’t even know what that means.” Arthur murmured back.

Dutch chuckled as he poured them all some hot water to keep warm for the night, adding a little ginseng in each of their cups. He had learned that from Hosea and had taken to doing so frequently to aid in his occasional coughing. “Haven’t we taught you better, Arthur?” He asked, not quite as concerned as Hosea was towards Arthur at the moment. If Arthur was breathing, that was good enough for Dutch. “Speakin’ of— I brought us a little something to read for the night. Just like old times.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You two are always _readin’._ ”

“And you never should have stopped.” Hosea scolded in almost a motherly nature, a hand tilting Arthur’s chin up to check for other injuries. Once he was certain he was okay, he helped Arthur into a spare shirt Dutch had brought along, as well as his coat to keep warm. “Though I do see you writing in that journal a lot.”

“You must really wanna see what’s in it.” Arthur chuckled, but he caught a glance that Hosea had sent towards Dutch, and immediately took to looking between them. “What is it?”

Dutch knelt down in front of Arthur and next to Hosea, reaching forward to bring some hair out of Arthur’s face, placing the warm mug into his hands. “Don’t worry about it, son.”

“Well, I’m gonna worry even more now.” Arthur said, eyeing Hosea cautiously. “Really— What is it?”

Hosea was easier to trap. He had a softer spot for Arthur than Dutch did at times. “You’ve just seemed a bit distant lately, Arthur.” He replied, resting a hand on Arthur’s bicep, squeezing gently. “We’re worried about you.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to worry about.” Arthur huffed, pushing off Hosea’s hand gently.

Dutch kept his eyes on Arthur for a moment, but he turned to face the campfire to remove their food from the flames. He’d let Hosea handle it.

“As long as you’re sure.” Hosea said. “Now, eat up. We’ll rest here another night. Head back to camp in the morning, or wait if you need more time.”

As much as Arthur wanted to claim he was fine, he had to admit, being lunged at by a bear wasn’t always welcoming to anyone’s mental state. The wounds didn’t help much, either, and it was taking everything he had not to allow himself to crumble beneath Hosea’s gentle affection. He felt he didn’t deserve it. Instead of responding, he remained silent, taking a slow sip out of his mug.

He felt much better after he had some food in him, growing rather tired by the minute. His bedroll was calling his name, and as he nursed the rest of his ginseng that had eventually grown cold, Dutch and Hosea’s casual conversation had steered abrupt into sudden laughter.

“You remember that time Arthur thought he saw a ghost?” Dutch wheezed out.

It had been enough for Hosea, who had been laughing so hard that a hand came down to slap his own knee and his own chest betrayed him with a couple of coughs. “Oh, you don’t have to remind me!”

“Not this story now.” Arthur rolled his eyes, setting his empty mug down next to him, huffing as he pulled his coat closer to himself. It was less out of the cold temperature and more due to his timid nature upon discussing the subject.

“C’mon, let him tell the story.” Hosea said with another bout of laughter, but Dutch wasn’t waiting for Arthur to give the ‘okay’, already diving head-first into it.

“Oh, you remember it well. Arthur had ridden out, all angry after we denied him that dangerous bank job out West. You’d been gone all day, coming home just in time for all of us to be sleepin’—” Dutch had to pause to chuckle, wiping at his eye joyously, “And you walk into camp, claiming to see a big, ugly ghost with a long white dress and a _pan_ to hit you with.” He nearly cackled now.

“It _ain’t my fault_. I didn’t know it was Miss Grimshaw.” Arthur claimed sourly.

Hosea and Dutch had to take a minute or so to recover from their reminiscing mirth. Despite the silly story, Arthur thought it well to see them both smiling again.

“Seems like so long ago.” Hosea said softly, now looking down to the campfire.

“It _was_ long ago.” Dutch replied, looking between his two boys. “But we’re still here. And we’ll make it.” He assured, reaching forward to place his hand over Hosea’s, the two of them seated quite close, next to each other near the campfire.

Arthur watched them both affectionately. It was obvious that Dutch and Hosea had something; they had since the start, even through their relationships with Bessie and Annabelle. Losing them had seemingly brought the two closer together. They were meant to be, and Arthur couldn’t see it any differently.

“Arthur,” Dutch spoke up, patting his lap. “C’mere.”

He blinked up at the other two men, a bit confused at first, but his memory did not fail him. There had been countless nights that Arthur had spent with his adoptive fathers, Hosea reading him off to bed. It seemed like tonight would be one of those nights, and although they hadn’t done it since Arthur was seventeen years old, something about nature’s confidentiality felt right.

Arthur grunted gently as he pushed himself from his spot at the fire, making his way right over to Hosea and Dutch. It was a little hard with a wrapped shoulder in order to keep his wounds clean, but he managed, eventually laying himself down so that his head rested within Dutch’s lap and his legs folded over Hosea’s. As Hosea procured a book from his satchel, Dutch removed Arthur’s hat, bringing fingers through his soft golden-brown strands in hopes of soothing him. It all felt momentarily foreign; it had been so long since Dutch had been anything but focused on his plans, and as much as the physical affection was welcomed, it confused Arthur. He trusted Dutch with his life, but the further East they went, the more van der Linde appeared to pull apart at the seams.

His thoughts were interrupted as Dutch’s hand remained within his son’s hair, stroking through it gently as Hosea paged through a chapter to read within the book Dutch had brought. From this angle, Arthur could see the stars dancing beyond the flame’s smoke, always fond of nature in a way that he could just observe. The crickets chirped and the occasional night owl hooted, but otherwise, it was just them.

“Ah! Here it is.” Hosea mumbled to himself after a moment, stopping upon a page later into the book he had folded for memory. “Chapter five. The Avenging Angels.”

“One of my favorites.” Dutch replied softly.

“ _All night, their course lay through intricate defiles and over regular and rock-strewn paths._ ” Hosea paused, taking in the sentences slowly. “ _More than once they lost their way, but Hope’s intimate knowledge of the mountains enabled them to regain the track once more. When morning broke, a series of marvellous though savage beauty lay before them. In every direction the great snow-capped peaks hemmed them in, peeping over each other’s shoulders to the far horizon._ ” Hosea paused for only a moment upon feeling Dutch’s free hand at his thigh, before he continued, book in hand. “ _… As the sun rose slowly above the eastern horizon, the caps of the great mountain lit up one after the other, like lamps at a festival, until they were all ruddy and glowing._ ” He smiled a tad as he read. “ _The magnificent spectacle cheered the hearts of the three fugitives and gave them fresh energy…_ ”

He had only stopped in his words due to the slight squeeze Dutch had offered at his thigh. He lowered the book for a moment to glance over, and his heart warmed at the sight.

Arthur, who had clearly taken Hosea’s reading as a form of a lullaby, had nuzzled himself into Dutch’s shirt. He was very much so asleep by now, eyelids shut, expression incredibly calm as van der Linde never once ceased the movement of his hands in Arthur’s hair. It had been a rough couple of weeks, and seeing Arthur in such a serene state calmed both Hosea and Dutch, more than they had believed they needed it.

“Well, I didn’t think Mister Conan Doyle was all that boring.” Hosea teased gently, placing a hand over Arthur’s, where it was rested upon his own stomach, just beneath the bear claw wounds.

“Our boy,” Dutch commented tenderly. When it was just the three of them, Hosea was certain it was oh-so-very easy for Dutch to be himself. No plans, no thinking, no stress. Just the three of them, secluded within Ambarino, not a single eye watching them.

Hosea observed Dutch without much hesitance, expression softening considerably. “He’ll always be our boy.” He replied.

“You think—” Dutch paused as he began, and his hand stilled in Arthur’s strands, stare now adjusting to Hosea. “I mean…” He shook his head. “I don’t wanna lose him.”

“We won’t,” Hosea reassured, dipping his head a bit to try and find Dutch’s eye. “Dutch, we won’t.” He said, reaching up to guide his face in his direction. “Just… Promise me this. We do whatever we can, for Arthur, for the gang… We do what we can to keep them safe.” His voice had grown a bit more stern now, but his loving nature hadn’t slipped away.

"I always do whatever I can—"

" _Dutch._ " 

On normal circumstances, Dutch would have fought back against the idea of himself ever stepping out of line (and being reminded of it), but alone, he didn’t have any energy to fight him. He gave a nod and steadied his pupils with Hosea’s. “I promise.”

Hosea nodded, and he brought Dutch’s face in closer, until their lips met and their eyes shut. It was gentle, Hosea relinquishing in the freedom of doing this out in the open, not minding the slight burn of Dutch’s mustache against his clean-shaven skin. He basked in it.

“Get a room, you two.” Arthur grumbled into Dutch’s shirt, burrowing further into the fabric.

Dutch chuckled softly as he pulled back, glancing down to Arthur once more, who seemed to be fading right back into his well-deserved slumber. “Get some rest, son.” He whispered, and Hosea set the book aside, sitting right next to Dutch at that fire with their son along with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Source(s)** :  
> 1\. _A Study In Scarlet_ , Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, 1887. Chapter V, The Avenging Angels.


	2. On the Subject of Observation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Arthur's stare shifted from the constellations above and over to Charles, and the affection in his heart never left; it simply altered towards the man he had grown so fond of._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the love of last chapter! hopefully this lifts your spirits and wishes you a happy happy weekend. ♡

“Mr. Morgan!” Strauss turned upon the rock he was seated at overlooking the landscape past Horseshoe Overlook, wrinkly brows raised, a wry smile twisting at the corner of his lips as Arthur approached in reluctance. He had blown off Strauss’ debt work for as long as he had been able to, even going great lengths to rescue Micah from the Strawberry jail before even picking up Herr Strauss’ collections. Arthur had at least received a minimal amount of reprieve, seeing as Micah had decided to bring a gift back to Dutch before returning, ridding the camp of his sourness for a little while longer. Sean was back, however, which hadn’t been an easy job, and as much as Arthur acted off-put by his presence, he had a little bit of a soft spot for the kid. He was always in a good mood (except perhaps when drunk) and was fun to ride with. He had been previously worried that Sean had followed Mac to the end of a pistol, and he was glad they were able to rescue him in time.

“Herr Strauss.” Arthur greeted as he tipped his hat, resting his weight on one hip as he looped his thumbs into his gun belt.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Strauss pointed out, quirking a curious brow.

“Ain’t exactly give me excitement to run about with legal work.” Arthur grunted, and then leaned over Strauss’ shoulder to observe the papers within his grasp. “Who are they?”

“A ‘Chick Matthews’, works at Guthrie farm. He’s a hand, I believe… Mr. Wróbel, the small handler at Painted Sky… Runs the operations, _badly_.” Strauss began, Arthur still eyeing the pages curiously. “Miss Lilly Millet—”

As soon as Strauss had reached the third name, Arthur huffed out and leaned back a bit, shaking his head. “Here was me believin’ Dutch sayin’ we was helping folks.” He said.

“As you said, Mr. Morgan. This is legal work.” Strauss explained. “There’s one more— Mr. Thomas Downes. Farmer, preacher fellow I met in Valentine.”

“Yeah, I know the one. Opinionated little do-gooder.” He grumbled. “All right. I’ll make sure they get p—”

“Arthur!” Dutch’s voice came from behind his shoulder, as both Arthur and Strauss turned to look at him in curiosity. He seemed to be in good spirits, as had the rest of the camp since Sean’s return, and as Dutch approached, he planted the usual hand upon his shoulder, this time with a little bit more pep. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Erh— But—!” Strauss began to speak, but Dutch cut him off directly.

“Nonsense, Strauss. Send John to do the debts. He may not be as big and charming, but the scars make for a good scare.” Dutch instructed, already beginning to guide Arthur towards his tent, away from Strauss and his apparent agitation with losing Arthur yet again from his work. “Arthur—” He paused, tapping the back of his hand to Arthur’s chest with a cheeky expression. “We are going grocery shopping.”

Arthur blinked, having to double-take Dutch’s words and features. “You pull me away from debt work for _groceries_?” He asked with a deep laugh. “I mean, I ain’t complainin’, but I always thought your priorities were makin’ money.”

“Sure, sure. But Sean’s back— Listen, I think we should throw a party. Tonight. You, me, Hosea, we’ll ride into town to get a little extra brandy for the gang, cheer ‘em up after these past few weeks.” Dutch said, attempting to coax him to come. “Ain’t no harm in a little relaxing, Arthur. Especially you, son.”

“Ain’t a party big as this when John came back.” He pointed out. “Sure, I’ll come. S’long as were pickin’ up liquor and not drinkin’ at the bar.” He chuckled a little. “I ain’t exactly too welcome in there after Lenny and I went drinkin’.”

“Well, it ain’t fun without a little trouble.” Dutch said playfully. “Hosea’s by the horses. Meet him there while I grab a few things.”

Arthur gave him a nod, patting Dutch’s arm once before he headed through the camp to reach the horse area Kieran had been tending to recently. He was a nervous little feller, and Arthur didn’t trust him entirely yet.

“Arthur,” Another voice called out as he walked, softer but more certain, and Arthur was pleased to turn and find Charles crafting what looked like arrows for his bow, seated at the table he and Tilly had played dominoes at just last night.

“Charles.” Arthur said, approaching him with a gentler expression. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Charles gave a nod, calm and collected. Most times, he was. “How’s that shoulder?”

Morgan’s lips twitched to pull into a light smile. “Oh, you know. ‘Bout as good as a healing bear claw wound could be.” He said. He could tell Charles was tired— He had been working himself silly around camp, between chopping wood, lifting feed, dragging hay bales, refilling water, and hunting, he was most certainly the hardest worker around camp. “You need a break?”

Charles tilted his head. “What do you have in mind?” He asked, setting his arrows down for a moment.

Arthur chuckled, taking a step closer as he offered his hand to the other man, eyes remaining tender. “C’mon. I’ll surprise you.”

Charles glanced between Arthur’s face and his hand before taking it, bringing himself up to his feet as he followed Arthur to the horses. As stated, Hosea was there, cooing at Silver Dollar quietly as he brushed him slowly.

“Hello, Charles. Are you coming along?” Hosea asked as he turned to the both of them.

“I suppose I am.” Charles replied, stepping up to Taima to graze a hand against her snout as he mounted her. “Will camp be all right?”

“We’ll only be gone for a little. Javier and Bill are here, John for now. Sean, too, but I think he’s drunk at the moment.” Arthur chuckled a little. “Gettin’ ready for the party already, I suppose.”

“Charles,” Dutch greeted as he approached, mounting the Count with a neutral expression. “Good to see you. Are we all ready?”

Arthur brought himself onto Ayla’s saddle with a nod, careful of his shoulder as he did so. “Sure are.”

“Lead the way, old girl.” Dutch chimed at Hosea playfully, following him out through the trees of camp and onto the main road, turning North to head for Valentine.

Charles looked to Arthur briefly again, who held a smirk beneath his gunslinger hat. Dutch had never really been able to hide how sweet he was on Hosea.

“You know, you and Charles ought to go back up to Ambarino, Arthur. Hunt that bear.” Hosea called back.

“Sure.” Arthur responded, “I’d love to get mauled all over again.”

“Well, son, you ain’t exactly graceful all the time.” Dutch teased.

Hosea laughed a little. “Do you remember when Arthur rode horseback with us after that con out West?”

Arthur squinted at them both, displeased. “We gotta do this _now_?”

Dutch laughed now, too, heading up the road and into the direction of Valentine, through Caliban’s Seat and Citadel Rock. “Oh, I remember. Charles— He ever tell you this story?”

“I’d imagine he wouldn’t want to.” Charles replied, but an amused smile pulled at his lips.

“We were riding back to camp after a robbery.” Hosea began with a grin. “Arthur was ahead, and he was trying to look back at us, racing us home, calling after us, ‘You won’t be able to catch me!’ Ran the horse right into the trunk of a tree.”

“I have no idea how that horse stuck with you for so long, Arthur.” Dutch replied.

“Boadicea was a good girl. Ain’t no other like her.” He defended, pouting in his saddle, avoiding eye contact with Charles. “Can we please talk about somethin’ else?”

“I think I’d like to hear more.” Charles replied mischievously, and Arthur sent him harmless daggers, earning a soft chuckle in response.

“Goddamn it, Smith.” Arthur huffed. “You deserve Hosea chewin’ your ear off now.”

* * *

As Hosea and Dutch had gone inside the general store to buy liquor and other items, Arthur sat on the bench outside, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and a cigarette between his lips. Charles had gone off to the stables to buy a new brush for Taima, but he had approached Arthur soon after, sitting himself down next to the outlaw, observing him quietly as he smoked.

“You look tired.” Charles commented gently. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Depends.” Arthur murmured, bringing the cigarette back from his lips to exhale a cloud of smoke. “We talkin’ properly?”

Charles nudged him in response, and Arthur smiled into his cigarette. “You know what I mean.”

“Believe it or not, slept a little up on that huntin’ trip with these fools.” He stated fondly, gesturing towards the door to the general store where Hosea and Dutch still were. “S’a little hard, attemptin’ to sleep when I’m out and about. Camp’s gotta stay runnin’.”

“You can’t always stay running, too, Arthur.” Charles pointed out, eyes never leaving him. “Rest is important.”

“I know.” Arthur replied, turning his head to look at him with similar softness now. “Huntin’ trip was kind of a break, though. Felt like old times again.”

Charles watched him attentively. He may have only joined recently, around six months ago, but Arthur already felt as if he could trust the man with a lot, sometimes more than John. He and Marston had been on bad terms recently after he had gone and disappeared for a year, but he still had to accept the fact that John was pretty much his brother.

“Besides the bear, of course.” Arthur chuckled after a moment, tossing his cigarette aside as he released another bout of smoke. “Hosea’s right, though. We should go up there and hunt sometime.”

“One day.” Charles nodded. “As long as enough people are around to watch everyone at camp.”

Arthur nodded, too. “It was good to get Dutch out, but… Dunno. We gotta be careful sometimes.” He explained, scratching absently at the scar on his chin out of habit. “Things have been real quiet, though. Maybe we ought to keep home here for a while.”

“It’s nice.” Charles agreed. “But we never stay in one place for too long.” He observed.

“I ain’t likin’ us movin’ East, that’s for sure.” Arthur pointed out. “But… Dutch’s got a plan.” He glanced down to his boots. “We’ll be okay.”

Charles didn’t respond as Hosea and Dutch exited the general store with a decent amount of brandy and gin, laughing about something amongst themselves.

“You boys ready?” Hosea asked, handing him a couple of bottles to stash in his satchel.

“Sure.” Arthur replied, taking them as they started back towards their horses. “Think we got enough to drink?” He asked playfully.

“Enough for Sean, maybe.” Hosea replied with a chuckle. “Let’s head back.”

* * *

It was an understatement to say that the bottles had ran dry faster than expected. Sean had hogged at least ten bottles of the fine brandy, and had stolen an opened bottle of gin from Arthur’s satchel. Hosea, Bill, Reverend Swanson and John were all huddled around the campfire in talk of journeys and adventures, Hosea carrying them along as he spoke of the old days. John sat near the fire upon the dirt while the others occupied seats and logs, Dutch’s gramophone almost obnoxiously loud as classical music sputtered from the horn. Arthur had been seated at the table with Karen, Javier and Uncle, laughing about as they sang a song of their own, Karen slamming down her bottle of Kentucky Bourbon upon the tabletop with a hearty laugh as they finished. Uncle had been carrying them along as his shoe tapped the dirt below in rhythm.

Voices passed by Arthur’s ear, all drowned out together by the cheery sounds of the camp. 

“And… And if you can tell the difference between a man and… And a _sheep_ …”

“If I have to whip ‘em, I will!”

“Takes one to know one, Macguire!”

“… but a warm fire, and you can feel all as okay.”

The last voice had been Hosea’s, and it brought Arthur from his tipsy, elated state to glance over at the older man sitting by the campfire. Even seeing Hosea in a good mood was enough to make Arthur feel better. He excused himself from the table as Sean stumbled to steal his seat, approaching the campfire as he sat down next to Hosea upon the log. He was still going on about fires with similar state of drunkenness, spiraling into the idea of the wire being invented, and so on. All throughout his stories, however, and as the other men shared some of his own, Arthur noticed that the one person who hadn’t been around was Charles.

He tipped back the rest of his fine brandy, maybe his fourth bottle that night, and he pushed himself off of the log to take a quick glance around. Sean and Karen had been drunkenly tripping over their own feet as they headed back to the Irishman's tent, and Kieran was off in the distance, feeding one of the spare camp horses as Mary-Beth dwindled near him. Arthur excused himself once again as he stepped over the log and headed past Dutch’s tent, who had stopped him with a cigar in hand.

“Arthur, my boy,” Dutch stepped in front of him, laughing a little bit to his wandering feet. “You are as drunk as the moon, my friend.”

Arthur laughed, a bit of a cheery drunk where he stood, and he didn’t remember a fifth bottle of gin appearing in his hand. It was there, all right, however. He must have grabbed it on his way up from the campfire. “Moons can’t get drunk.” He defended. “I ain’t even properly drunk yet!” He said, looking over Dutch’s shoulder. “You see Charles?”

“Think he’s keeping watch.” Dutch claimed. “I offered him to join, but he was pretty keen on keepin’ us safe.” He chuckled. “Can’t take a night off.”

“Tha’s Charles.” Arthur sighed. “M’gonna go talk to ‘em.”

“Go on.” Dutch said, nudging Arthur along as he disappeared towards the front of the camp.

Hosea had left the campfire at one point or another after Arthur, ending up at Dutch’s tent with a warm expression. “What are you doing here all alone?” He asked him.

“Waitin’ on you, sweetheart. You owe me a dance.” Dutch smirked, and he hadn’t waited a moment longer as the song continued upon his gramophone, stepping forward to slip a hand around Matthew’s waist, disposing of his cigar. He cared little about their proximity, seeing as the entire camp would have half a memory and a hangover by morning. He raised one hand between them as he took Hosea’s, grinning softly as he found his eyes.

Hosea laughed a little bit, smoothing a hand up to Dutch’s shoulder, while the other one joined his. Dutch still had his black overcoat on, which had tied nicely with his dark vest and red handkerchief, highlighting the black, silky curls that accompanied the ends of his hair. Hosea still had on his old green coat of his, which was plenty warm and covered in patches from wear and tear. “I owe you a dance?”

“You owe me plenty.” Dutch replied lovingly, swaying them around in a relaxed state, carrying along Hosea’s tipsy shambles. “How’re you feeling, love?”

“Good.” Hosea answered honestly, stepping a bit closer in order to hear Dutch’s voice over the music. “I’m okay, Dutch.”

“As long as you’re okay.” Dutch reiterated. “I ain’t losing you any time soon.”

Hosea’s movements slowed for a moment as they transitioned into a gentle sway. It wasn’t often Dutch was vulnerable like this; it reminded him of their promise in the Grizzlies just days before. “I’m getting old.” Hosea teased lightly. “I won’t be around forever.”

“Hey,” Dutch narrowed his brow. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.” He said, voice growing softer.

Hosea smiled a bit, and then erupted with soft laughter. “Okay— All right, I need to sit down for a moment. I don’t want to spoil anything by throwing up on you.”

* * *

Arthur had made it all of the way to the front of camp, where Charles was seated upon a small rock, hunched over and shaving a small wooden chunk of a log with his knife. He almost didn’t want to interrupt him. He knew Charles liked his space and his time alone, and it was obvious as to why he wasn’t at the party, but Arthur felt guilty leaving him here like this. Besides, he wanted to spend time with him.

“S’a party, and you’re still puttin’ yourself to work.” Arthur murmured, and he flopped himself down onto the ground next to the rock, hitching a knee up to rest his elbow upon it.

“Arthur.” Charles looked down at him as he sat, though a soft laugh spilled from his lips, and he sat up a bit upon realization of Arthur’s state. “Are you drunk?”

“Nah.” Arthur mumbled, though he glanced to him with a small smile. “Jus’ had a drink or two.”

“I can see.” Charles replied.

“Why ain’t you at the party?”

Charles offered a small shrug. “Well, it’d be wise to watch over an entire camp of drunken fools.” He explained calmly. 

“Guess so.” Arthur shrugged, staring off into the silhouettes of the small forest surrounding camp. “Want some?” He offered the gin in his hand, and Charles took it with a quiet ‘thank you’. He nursed it, however, as opposed to downing it like the rest of them.

“How’s that chest?” He asked Arthur.

“M’fine. Healin’ fast. Ain’t nothing like I haven’t had before, you know that.” Arthur shrugged.

“Okay, Arthur.” Charles replied lightly.

Arthur tilted his head up, up to the stars where they shone brightest at night. He was more of a night owl than a morning person, often finding his ways of sleep between three a.m. and noon, if he managed to get any sleep in at all. His stare shifted from the constellations above and over to Charles, and the affection in his heart never left; it simply altered towards the man he had grown so fond of.

Charles looked back at him, lips pulling into another adoring smile. “What is it?”

Arthur stared for a moment longer, before giving a shrug and glancing down to his feet. “Dunno.”

Laughing softly, Charles moved to stand, only to kneel down in front of Arthur. Arthur watched in a drunken daze as Charles removed his gunslinger hat, brushing hair from his face and leaning forward to plant a gentle kiss to the center of his forehead. His hand slipped momentarily behind his nape to cradle Arthur as he kissed him there. He pulled back, placing his hat back on, squeezing his shoulder. “Get some sleep. You need it.” He stated, before moving to stand, grabbing his rifle from the rock and heading further into the trees to keep watch closer up front.

Arthur watched him the whole time, and although he was drunk, he couldn’t deny the blossom of warmth spreading in his chest like a flower. He had gotten up after a moment, stumbling past Hosea and Dutch speaking fondly yet quietly to themselves at the table, collapsing into his cot as soon as he had reached his tent.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s... the photo is meant to be best accessible for mobile viewers!! sorry for the tiny picture, my desktop readers!


	3. Journal Entry I: Trust and Other Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, Arthur's got thoughts of his own.

>   
>  _Dutch has been a little off lately. I love him like a father, and he’s been trying his best. Hosea’s different, though. I’d never say this out loud but I love him even more. He’s human, and kind. Guess he’s like a mother, then. Got a big heart. Almost as big as that goddamned bear._

* * *

Hosea opened the flap to Dutch’s tent some time after dark, peeking in with a curious set of eyes. A smile pulled at his thin lips at the sight displayed before him.

Dutch was, as Hosea expected, awake. He was sitting up and at the edge of his cot, per usual as Hosea had found him. He seemed tired, however, and although he knew van der Linde struggled to sleep most nights, he seemed to be rather calm at the moment. Hosea knew Dutch hadn’t been at his very best in the past couple of weeks, through the snow and even beforehand in Blackwater, so it was nice to see him tranquil for even a moment's time. Dutch had looked up as soon as Hosea stepped in, book in hand, a soft smile of his own twisting his mustache at his upper lip into an expression of welcoming. “Hosea.”

“Dutch,” Hosea greeted kindly, closing the flap behind him as he approached Dutch’s cot, seating himself down next to him. “What are you reading?”

“Well… I _was_ reading an interesting account of crime mystery.” Dutch replied, closing the book as his hand found itself at the small of Hosea’s back. “I stopped absorbing the words about twenty minutes ago.”

Hosea’s head offered a tilt, and his features softened as he stared over at the other man. “Something bothering you?”

Dutch glanced to the open flap, but his worries seemed to shine through in his face, as Hosea was quick to respond before he answered.

“John, Arthur, they’ll be all right. They left for the train job about an hour ago.” Hosea explained.

Dutch shook his head. “It ain’t that.”

Hosea reached up, fingertips smoothing up to caress his cheek, guiding his thumb along Dutch’s cheekbone. He had always admired them so greatly, but Dutch as a whole was someone to appreciate.

Dutch exhaled contently, despite the added weight beneath it all, and he reached up to place his hand over Hosea’s at his cheek, eyelids falling shut as he leaned into the warmth of his touch. “You’ll always have my back, won’t you?”

“Always.” Hosea replied without any hesitation. “You know that.” He added, brushing his thumb over the small patch of hair in the dent of Dutch’s chin. His eyes never left the other man’s, however.

“It’s… It’s been a long time, but… We did it.” Dutch said, dark pools of brown soaking up Hosea’s positive energy like dirt after a drought.

“Almost, Dutch.” Hosea replied, lips forming the smallest of smiles, and he reached up to soothe a hand through silky, unruly curls. It seemed to have been just washed, for Hosea felt no pomade slicking back his strands. He leaned forward, planting a sweet kiss to his temple. “Now, really, what is it that’s bothering you?”

Dutch sighed once again quietly. “Arthur.” He said simply.

“What about him?” Hosea asked.

“I just don’t know.” Dutch tried to explain. “He ain’t seem too keen on anything I’ve come up with recently. After Blackwater—”

“Blackwater was Micah’s idea.” Hosea reminded.

“And I listened to him.” Dutch responded. “These people… They’re expecting me to lead them. And we’ve been okay recently, we _have_ , but… I still wanna give everyone something to believe in, now, I know I haven’t been my best, but....”

“We lost a lot of people in Blackwater.” He agreed as Dutch trailed off, tucking some curls behind his ear fondly. “But we’re alive. Arthur… He’s probably just scared.” Hosea reassured. “He’s just as frightened to lose you as you are afraid to lose him.”

Dutch took Hosea’s hand within his own now, bringing it to his lips to plant a kiss to the ridge of his knuckles. His facial hair tickled the faint skin upon his fingers. “What would I do without you?”

Hosea smiled weakly. “Oh, you’d be swinging by now.” He teased, shifting a bit on the cot, beginning to guide Dutch to lay back with him. Most of the camp was long at rest by now, and if not, they were occupied with drinks by the campfire.

“Maybe.” Dutch replied with a warm expression, laying back with Hosea, burrowing his nose into the curve of his neck, inhaling his scent. Hosea smelled of Earth and ginseng, something Dutch would never tire of. “But don’t forget all of the times I saved _your_ neck.” He murmured, planting a kiss to the stretch of his throat.

“Hmm,” Hosea hummed in response, tucking his face into Dutch’s hair lovingly. “I’m sure my numbers surpass yours when it comes to saving your skin.”

Dutch lifted his head, a playful smile at his lips as he glanced down at Hosea. “You’re going to do this to me now?”

Hosea released a soft bout of laughter. “Oh, I’m not doing anything but telling the truth.” He replied with a grin, which he held, even as Dutch leaned in to plant his lips against his own. Hosea returned the gesture, releasing a gentle grunt of happiness at the feeling, returning the embrace as his hands smoothed up to wrap around Dutch’s shoulders. As they pulled back, Dutch nosed Hosea’s cheek, planting a trail of butterfly kisses from his mouth, down to his jaw and over his neck.

“Any other truths I should be aware of?” Dutch asked, tucking himself back against Hosea’s chest gratefully.

Hosea’s hand slid up Dutch’s back as he felt the other man bring a leg over his lap. “I like your hair better without pomade.” At his response, he could feel Dutch’s lips spread into a smile against his throat. It stirred Hosea’s chest up in the best way. It was, however, the _truth_. Running a hand through Dutch’s natural hair was something Hosea was unable to keep from doing.

“Well… Have to keep an impression for the rest of camp.” He murmured, nestling himself against the other man.

“Speaking of impressions,” Hosea started, “Maybe I ought to get up.” He kissed the crown of Dutch’s head. “If anyone is suspicious—”

“Let them have their suspicions.” Dutch grumbled, obviously a bit too comfortable now to get up. “Just a few more minutes.”

Hosea didn’t fight it, giving a short nod as he let Dutch rest upon his chest for the moment.

A few minutes had turned into the rest of the night.

* * *

Bullets flew past, and Arthur spurred Ayla to go faster as he dug his heels into her flank. There was close to no reason that the law should have found them so swiftly during a train robbery in the dead of night, and although John’s plan had been solid with the oil wagon, it always came back to bite them with similar issues— The issue that the law was right on their tail.

Arthur huffed as he finally slowed down his horse, off of the road and out of sight from the officers back by the tracks. Charles, John, and Sean followed with their horses. Sean seemed to be in good spirits, even boasting about the cash Arthur had sent his way after he was able to catch his breath, but Arthur didn’t seem too enthusiastic about the robbery.

“I still think we should’a gotten more.” Arthur grumbled, glancing between the four of them. “We’ll split up. Get back to camp.” He said, though paused for a moment. “John. Why don’t you ride with me?”

John gave a nod, the two of them waving off Charles and Sean as they disappeared in the opposite direction, Arthur already beginning to lead the way through the wilderness where they wouldn’t be spotted by any passerby travelers. “Didn’t think it’d end up going to shit.” John said roughly, shaking his head a little bit. “Lost my goddamn hat back there, too.”

“Ah, don’t worry. You can have one of mine.” Arthur replied, slowing down next to him so that the two of them rode side-by-side. “Got plenty.” He reached up, scratching the nape of his neck in thought. “Wonder what Dutch is gonna think.”

“About my hat?”

“No, you fool. About the law, turning up real fast.” Arthur explained. “I ain’t too pleased with it all. And with Pinkertons showin’ up after that fishin’ trip with Jack—”

“You took Jack fishing?” John blinked.

“Yeah. So?” Arthur asked in return.

“Well, why’d you do that?” He questioned.

“Abigail asked me to.” Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “You were off findin’ out about that oil wagon.”

John was silent for a moment. “And he went with you?”

Arthur nodded. “Didn’t catch much. Spent the time pickin’ flowers and makin’ necklaces.” He shrugged. “Figured the kid needed some time away from camp. Anyway, I don’t think it’s too wise of us, hangin’ around Horseshoe Overlook much longer.” He sighed gently.

John cleared his throat a bit, bringing hair out of his face, unresponsive to Arthur’s words.

“You with me, Marston?”

“Yeah, I’m with you. Just thinkin’.” John replied.

“You ever go and get those debts for Strauss?” Arthur asked curiously.

“Sure did. Poor bastards. With pocket watches and no cash, we ought to just rob people off the street.” John grumbled.

“Well, it’s over now. He can go off and get his own goddamned debts next time.” Arthur replied, though if Dutch asked him, he figured he’d have to go himself. “C’mon. Let’s ride.”

* * *

>   
>  _Hosea and Dutch have gone real silly lately. Well, Dutch at least. Came across some Pinkertons with Jack the other day, and Dutch is pretty stuck on doing nothing. I think we ought to get out of here as soon as possible. We’ve been around for too long, especially after that train robbery with the oil and the law turning up like that. We’re making too much noise. Sometimes I think it’s best we head out West again. Go back for that gold, and keep heading West, back where we belong._
> 
> _This world don’t want us no more. I think about our life outside the law and I ain’t so sure it’s for these folks. They deserve a roof over their heads— And more seasoning in their food._
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Charles and I went bison hunting the other day. He was furious, finding loads of dead bison across the fields. Finally found the fools that were paid to do it, some kind of silly joke against the Indians. He had a wife and kid. I let him go, and I think Charles is upset with me for it._
> 
> __
> 
> _  
> _
> 
> _Charles has been real sweet on me lately. I think he deserves a better life, too._
> 
> * * *

Arthur grunted as he hauled the deer carcass onto the back of his horse, swiping at the sweat coated upon his brow, briefly glancing to Charles, who was feeding Taima a wild carrot he had found along the way. They had gone out for most of the day on a hunting trip, Charles’ own horse having a Pronghorn tied to the back of the saddle, and they were just about ready to head back in time for bed. The sun hadn’t begun to set just yet, but the rays of sunlight were dwindling, and it’d be long gone behind the horizon line by the time they reached camp again. “Part of me don’t even wanna bring this deer back to camp.” Arthur attempted to joke, removing his hat briefly to bring his hair out of his face. “Pearson’ll just ruin ‘em.”

Charles hummed warmly in response as he mounted Taima. “Me, too, but we have mouths to feed. Come on, Arthur.”

He exhaled, bringing himself into Ayla’s saddle soon after. Things had been tense at camp ever since Arthur returned with the news of the Pinkertons. Everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells; well, except for Dutch. It drove Arthur off of the wall with them sitting there, doing absolutely nothing, just waiting for someone to show up and threaten their livelihoods. Hosea was struggling to get a hold of Dutch in such a way as well, but Dutch wasn’t always too eager to listen. “You know, we ought to go drinkin’ again. It was fun, last time.”

“Fun?” Charles asked with an amused chuckle. “You, getting the crap beaten out of you, that was fun?”

Arthur flushed at the comment. “Well, I won, didn’t I?”

“You were going to kill him, Arthur.” Charles replied. “I’m not so certain that’s victory.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed. “Maybe. But you were close to ready to kill them bison hunters.”

“Well... I suppose you’re right.” Charles responded after a moment. “It's not much different."

Arthur was quiet for a moment or two.

“It doesn’t matter now. It wasn’t your fight, anyhow. Bill couldn’t keep himself from starting something in that bar.” Charles replied before Arthur could think of anything, and as he glanced over at him, Arthur spotted the smallest but gentlest of smiles offered to him. Any lingering tension within the air dispersed instantly. “Let’s just get these back to camp.”

They rode for a good twenty minutes or so, before their horses had slowed down at the break in the forest that led to the entrance of Horseshoe Overlook. As they approached the horse station, however, Arthur furrowed to see no hitching post; in fact, the entire camp was in shambles. Everyone was packing.

Arthur, wasting no time, slid off of his horse with Charles stepping aside to question Miss Grimshaw about the packing. Morgan marched right up to Dutch, who had been helping Pearson load his wagon. “We leavin’?” Arthur asked immediately. This morning, everyone was enjoying a hot cup of coffee over the fire. Now, Sadie was kicking dirt to extinguish the flames and Dutch’s shaking hand gripped at his cigar. “What happened?”

“Pinkertons.” Dutch growled, taking a long drawl from his cigar, huffing the air out through his teeth. “They showed up here, threatening to take me away.” He explained, though he seemed to try and loosen himself up now that Arthur was around, straightening his posture a tad and observing Arthur’s features. “It’s all right, Arthur. I got a plan—"

“Where we goin’?” Arthur asked, taking a step forward as he stared at Dutch from beneath his hat.

“Slow down.” Dutch replied, disposing of his cigar, moving to rest a hand on Arthur’s arm. “You all right, son?”

“No, I ain’t all right.” Arthur grumbled in return, shaking his head in response. “We should’a left sooner, Dutch. Where are we goin’ now?”

“South.” Dutch said. “Now, listen, Arthur, it’s a nice camp— Clemens Point. John and Javier rode down to check out the area. All we need is a couple of days—”

The outlaw’s stare hardened as he squinted over at his mentor, sharp cerulean eyes intensifying the glare of his pupils. “We’re movin’ _South_? You’ve been doin’ a lot of plannin’, Dutch, but I ain’t seen this grand plan of yours just yet.”

Dutch’s expression seemed to fall short of any affection for a moment, and it momentarily frightened Arthur at just how swiftly a man could change. “You remember who you’re talking to, son.”

“Boys,” Hosea approached, easily noticing the rigid attitude between the two men, John right behind him. “Arthur, you’re safe.” He said, obviously relieved. “We need to get going.”

“And you’re on board with this?” Arthur said, turning to the older man with a questionable expression.

“Arthur,” Hosea moved forward, placing both hands upon his shoulders. “It’s only for a little while.” He said, attempting to steady him, but the words falling from his mouth sounded like Dutch’s. Dutch must’ve coaxed Hosea before he had gotten the chance to do so with Arthur. “We have no where else to go. We can hole up for a few days, figure where we’re going from there. Important thing now is that we get out of here before the Pinkertons show up with fifty men or more.”

Arthur watched Hosea with reluctance. He was always better with him, softer on the eyes, touch not as heavy. Everything was clearer with him, and Arthur’s frustrated features shifted relatively fast into exhaustion. He had been around and about all day with Charles, and here he was, back at camp, preparing for perhaps an overnight journey down South. He was just about ready to crash.

Hosea nodded. “Ride with John on one of the wagons behind. Make sure no one is following after us.” He replied, though even with his chore given, he brushed his knuckles against Arthur’s cheek, removing particles of soil from his day’s work of hunting. “And you boys, be safe.” Hosea looked to both John and Arthur now, giving them one last nod, before he took ahold of and dragged Dutch off to the front of camp towards the wagons.

John placed a hand on Arthur’s back, bringing him from his thoughts. “I’ll steer.” He offered with a reassuring expression.

* * *

Clemens Point, as they had arrived around noon the following day, was a lot prettier than Arthur expected. He wasn’t a fan of the humidity, having to change into a white every-day shirt and a comfortable vest as opposed to an overcoat and thicker clothing, and he had been used to the heat of the West before but never anything like this. It was particularly sticky, a sensation Arthur just couldn’t shake, and he’d have to grow used to the atmosphere as they remained. He hoped that it wouldn’t have to be the case, however, and Dutch would come through with a journey to bring them to safety.

Hosea had changed, too; finally out of that ratty coat and into fresh clothing, ones that hugged his slim frame and brought at least (some) color back to his face. After scoping out the area for a couple of days, things began to look up again.

Arthur had grown less angry with Dutch, coming around again to visit him at his tent while he read, or share a smoke with him in the morning. They had gone back to laughing with one another even sooner.

He had ended up finding Dutch by the shore of Clemens Point, a hand on his hip as he overlooked Flat Iron Lake, seemingly lost within his own head for the moment. Dutch had turned to him upon hearing his footsteps.

“How you doin’, old friend?” Dutch greeted warmly, looking to Arthur with a curious expression.

“Fine.” Arthur gave a nod as he stepped up to him.

“It’s funny, us ending up down here.” Dutch started.

“That so?” Arthur asked neutrally.

“My daddy died in a field in Pennsylvania fighting this lot. I ever tell you that?”

He exhaled, giving a nod. “Many times.”

“I see I’m boring you, Arthur.” Dutch replied with a small smile.

“No, you ain’t borin’ me.” Arthur shook his head, wishing he’d see the point. “You’re worryin’ me, Dutch.”

Dutch tilted his head in confusion. “Worrying you?”

“We lost men back in Blackwater. We was lucky to drag Sean out alive.” Arthur explained.

“We’re trying to reform society in a kinder, truer, better way. We have lofty goals.” Dutch said, waving his hands about, as if it would prove his point. “Of course there’s gonna be casualties.”

“I dunno Dutch, I… Sometimes I just think…”

“Stop speakin’ this nonsense to me, son. You’re starting to sound like Hosea. I don’t need the two of you against me.” Dutch said, a bit firmer now that they were broaching the topic.

“Course.” He replied, striving to stay on his calm side now that things had settled between them. “You know I always got your back.” Arthur reassured.

“Good.” Dutch calmed after a moment. “Now, go grab your brother. We’re going fishing.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “John’s coming along?”

“Course he is.” Dutch beamed, beginning to lead Arthur off of the shore. “Let’s go.”

* * *

The fishing trip hadn’t exactly gone as planned. They had been veered off course quite drastically after finding Trelawny in the back of a lawmen’s wagon, which had spiraled into a plan of Arthur and John riding after a train to capture some ‘Anders Anderson’ and his boys. By the time they had found themselves in Rhodes, talking about deputizing and keeping Trelawny out of trouble, Arthur was close to rejecting Hosea’s request for him to come along fishing. Dutch and Hosea’s stares had been enough to convince him, however, and John had given a shrug in response, riding the usual next to Arthur as they left town and headed in the direction of Flat Iron Lake once again.

Hosea glanced behind his shoulder where he rode next to Dutch up ahead, Arthur and John side by side behind as they seemed to be chatting amongst themselves. He looked back to Dutch, whose hands gripped the reins a little less tightly, calmer than he had been when they were packing up and moving from Horseshoe Overlook. Everyone had taken on a lot of stress during the move, but it seemed as they continued to settle themselves near Rhodes and find out more about the local situation, the better chance they had at rolling themselves out of this mess. “It’s nice to see those two getting along again.” Hosea commented.

Dutch gandered over briefly to Arthur and John as well, turning his eye to Hosea with a miniscule smile. “They always have a way of coming back to each other.” He replied with a slight laugh. “No matter how much Arthur thinks of him as a problem.”

“What’re you two gasbags goin’ on about?” Arthur called from behind them after hearing his name.

“Oh, nothing.” Hosea replied, amused. “Just a little about you boys.”

“See, Marston, you’re lucky.” Arthur continued. “You ain’t been out with these pair o’fools the past few weeks.”

“We’ll make up for that today.” Dutch replied with a smile.

“Can’t wait.” John said sarcastically. “I ain’t been fishing in a while, either.”

“Consider it your lucky day.” Arthur replied playfully as they headed off the road and towards the shore of the lake.

“I think I see some boats up there.” Hosea said, slowing down Silver Dollar to dismount his horse. “Surely no one will miss those, will they?”

* * *

By the time they had reached the lake, a slight fog had settled in, but not enough that they were unable to see. The day’s trip across the train tracks and into roads had taken up much of their time, leaving them to fish amongst the banks of the Flat Iron close to dusk. Hosea knew this had probably been something good for Arthur, seeing as he was aware his son would often watch the stars at night. They were specifically clearest now, out on the lake, and as the four of them rowed the large rowboat (or specifically, Arthur and John) towards the middle of the body of water, Hosea and Dutch seemed to be the only ones interested in fishing.

“You gettin’ tired already?” Dutch asked playfully towards John, who had been struggling to attach his lake lure now that the boat was stopped. Arthur had finally brought out his fishing pole at one point to join Dutch and Hosea in catching something.

“I’m just about ready to take a nap.” John responded in a similarly friendly nature, moving to stand up next to Arthur, but face the other direction upon the boat so that none of their lines had grown caught with one another.

Arthur chuckled to John’s response. “That’s just cause you’re better at robbin’ trains.”

John narrowed his eyes in Arthur’s direction. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You boys never stopped bickering, in the fifteen years you’ve known each other.” Hosea replied.

“Neither have you and Dutch.” Arthur responded jokingly.

“At least we don’t argue about nappin’.” Dutch quipped back, which allowed Arthur to release a genuine laugh.

“For old men, you’re both too quick for me.” Arthur beamed, waiting for something to nibble at his line.

A calm, comfortable silence had settled in between them as they fished. Hosea would mumble a, ‘you got something, Arthur’, every time a fish was hooked on his rod, and Dutch would peek over to examine the fish that Arthur had caught when he brought it only the boat. Eventually, Dutch and Hosea had turned to talking about the beginning days, when they had picked up John about five years after Arthur, taking in a scraggly looking twelve year-old and making something of him yet.

“I remember the countless days John and I read, too.” Hosea chuckled. “He’d fight me on it sometimes, but it seemed to do both you boys some good.”

“I dunno. We’re both still pretty illiterate.” Arthur pointed out playfully with a soft chuckle. “But I suppose so.”

“I may be illiterate, but I ain’t stupid.” John replied.

“Yeah, okay, maybe not as stupid as Bill, but you’ve got your own kind’a stupid.” Arthur responded.

Dutch’s laughter filled the air as he reeled in a lake sturgeon, deciding to keep it for the camp for later. “You boys really are somethin’ together, you know that?”

“Guess we take after who raised us.” Arthur said, poking fun.

“Yeah, we had to get our stupid from somewhere.” John joined in with a small smile, coughing quietly to clear his throat.

“Surely not from us.” Hosea replied with a laugh.

“... Seems so long ago that it was just us.” Arthur said after a moment.

“It’s been a long time.” Dutch agreed. “Always had each other, though, and we still do.”

Arthur paused for a moment’s time, stare briefly settling upon Marston, who was focused on reeling in a fish. Arthur knew that deep down, Dutch had always looked to Arthur like a favorite, but somehow, Hosea managed to display equal love towards both his boys over the years. In a way he couldn’t blame Dutch, and perhaps Arthur was still a bit frustrated with John for leaving for a year, but as times changed, he wanted to urge himself to let go of it.

He had been so distracted within his thoughts, that he didn’t realize the click and flash of a camera to his right.

Looking over, Arthur had to smile at the sight; Hosea had dug around in Arthur’s satchel, pulling out perhaps the clunkiest looking camera there was, having a bit of a time with it on his own. “What’re you doin’, old man?”

Hosea laughed this time. “Why in the Hell did you bring a camera to a fishing trip?”

Arthur shrugged, beginning to reel in his line to begin to fold up his rod and pack up. “I shoved it in there in a hurry when we left yesterday. Never took it out.”

“Well, we’ll have to have that photo developed now.” Hosea said cheekily, beginning to tuck away his own fishing rod as well. “We finished, boys?”

“I think it’s about time we head back.” Arthur agreed, settling himself down into the boat again.

* * *

The four of them had sang the entire way back, John a little less inclined, but by the time they were nearing the shore, they had Marston holding a wide smile and Dutch laughing until he couldn’t breathe.

“All right, all right. Let’s settle down. We can’t let them know we had _too_ much fun.” Dutch said with another light chuckle, sighing contently as the boat began to approach the dock.

Hosea and Arthur exited the boat first, hauling it up to shore alongside the dock, John climbing out soon after. Dutch went to speak again, but Abigail’s voice flooded the air, and she didn’t sound happy. John was practically dragged away in a fit of an argument about ‘not being around all day’, and as Arthur steadied the boat a bit more, he heard his mentor speak up once again.

“Well, I think that I… I mean, _we_... are gonna be okay.” Dutch said, looking between Hosea and Arthur with a warm, almost enlightened expression. It was perhaps Arthur’s favorite, to see Dutch so happy, so full of life and so full of hope.

“We will.” Hosea replied, glancing over to Dutch and then over to Arthur, who was tying the boat up to the dock. He gave Dutch a knowing expression.

Dutch turned his stare from Hosea to Arthur, and he sat up a bit more, taking the hint. “Son— you got a second?”

Arthur looked up as soon as Dutch had spoken, pausing for a moment to observe the air. “What is it?”

Hosea leaned his lower back against the boat to face him, and Dutch was still seated within it. “Well, we’ve been thinking a lot, about the local situation.” Dutch started.

“You mean, what it is with them Braithwaites, and Grays?” Arthur questioned.

“Exactly.” Hosea responded. “We found out there’s quite the feud between the two families. We’ve got a little bit of an idea.”

“See, if we start to ally ourselves with these fools, as we did with the Grays today… Well, we’ll play around with them both enough, rob them silly, and leave before they realize it wasn’t the one that robbed the other.” Dutch explained.

“And?” Arthur tilted his head. “You think it’ll be enough for us to leave?”

“Maybe.” Hosea nodded. “Somewhere far away, and safe."

Arthur seated himself upon the dock, leaning forward to rest his elbows upon his knees. His fingers came up to scratch at his scruff, which had begun to grow into a miniature beard. He’d shave soon enough. “And where we thinkin’ of goin’?”

“That don’t matter right now.” Dutch responded. “Point is… We may have a chance to get out of here. And… Well, hopefully we can really follow through with this plan.”

Arthur paused for a moment, before giving a small nod. “Well… All right. Just… Be careful. Folks down here are strange. Never know what they’re gonna pull.” He explained. “You really think we’ll be able to make enough money?”

“We just might, son.” Dutch said, eyes glinting with something Arthur couldn’t quite read. It was often hard to do so, anyway.

“Well, I hope so.” Arthur responded, removing his hat for a moment to guide some hair from his face. “I ought to go get some sleep before the morning.” He said, glancing between the both of them with a bit of a settled expression.

“Why not stay out a little longer?” Hosea offered.

“Out here, with you two?” Arthur asked fondly, pretending to act like it was a chore.

Dutch’s lips formed a small smile, and he brought himself out of the boat, a hand resting on Arthur’s back. “Ah, let him sleep, Hosea. We’ve had a long week.” He said, turning to face Arthur with a familial expression. “Especially you, Arthur. I need you tomorrow, but for now… Rest.”

Arthur observed Dutch for a moment’s time. He really wanted to believe that they had some sort of way out this time, but Dutch’s speeches over time had grown almost grandiose. It was beginning to grow hard to believe them, despite Arthur hanging on by the threads Dutch dangled. Nodding his head, he squeezed Dutch’s arm back in return softly, before turning the other direction and heading towards his tent for the night.

* * *

__

> _Hosea finally got that silly photo developed. I don't think it looks half bad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Source(s):**  
>  1\. Scanned PDF copy of Arthur Morgan's Journal.  
> https://www.reddit.com/r/reddeadredemption/comments/buxjuv/completed_arthurs_journal_pdf_and_zip/


	4. Blessed Are Those With Shame (May They Learn to Grow)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! i wanted to thank you again for the love on the last couple of chapters. this chapter here is a take on blessed are the peacemakers.
> 
> enjoy!

It had been a long time since Hosea had slept comfortably. Although he was entirely used to a bedroll and the hard ground beneath it since he started running around with Dutch van der Linde, there was something else besides the physical atmosphere that was preventing him from entering any kind of a peaceful slumber. It had started perhaps just after Blackwater, when they had been running for days until their feet were sore and the nausea of empty bellies became a constant. Even Little Jack wouldn’t complain, however, and they’d push on, as they had to Colter months back and now, to Clemens Point. Hosea wanted to see an end to it all, someplace safe they’d be able to settle, but right now, everything was a blur, and Hosea was struggling to find proper sleep seven days of the week.

He had woken up one morning, particularly uneasier than most. His eyes throbbed and he felt exhaustion creep up at his temples, despite having gotten a (somewhat fitful) seven hours of rest. That was a good chunk of time in any outlaw’s book, but he supposed he could have slept worse given the circumstances.

The previous night, Micah, Dutch and Arthur had set out to have peace talks with Colm O’Driscoll. Hosea knew it was a trap, and had urged them to let it go, but Dutch was particularly keen in following Micah’s plans, and the three of them departed just after nightfall. Hosea, up and about in worry, hadn’t fallen asleep until around five in the morning, and had slept until just about noon.

He had disassembled himself from his bedroll after wiping his eyes and grazing a hand through his short, blondish strands. He scanned the camp once, before his eyes immediately attached themselves to Dutch, who was at his usual morning position, an elbow bent with a cigar between his lips.

Wasting no time, Hosea stood from his bedroll and brushed off his clothes, not having even changed into his union suit or any type of pajamas the night before. It was uncommon for Hosea to, seeing as he was always attempting to be ready to be on the run again, even mid-rest. He approached Dutch at his tent with haste, relief flooding his chest at the sight anyhow. Dutch was okay. “How did it go?”

Dutch observed Hosea for a moment before releasing a chuckle, the smoke of his cigar pushing past his lips at the movement. “Well, good morning to you, too, Mr. Matthews.”

Hosea raised a questioning, almost demanding eyebrow, and Dutch was swift to catch the hint.

“It went… Fine, actually.” Van der Linde gave a nod. “We talked. We made peace. Colm left with his boys, and we came back here.” He explained.

Hosea’s brow raised. “So, that’s it? This is over?”

“I suppose it is.” Dutch said. “As I’ve said before… All of it was a long time ago.” He explained. “It’s time to put the past behind us.”

Hosea’s expression remained wary. It was entirely unlike Colm to let go of things like that, especially when it came to Dutch. The two of them may have been friends in the past, but things changed drastically, and after Annabelle was killed, Dutch had been nothing but furious, enraged, and hurt. Colm was an evil snake, and Hosea didn’t doubt for one second that the other man would hold something against Dutch in the future.

Dutch seemed to notice Hosea’s expression, and he hummed in amusement, taking another draw from his cigar. “Will you have a little faith? Everything went just fine. And even if it didn’t, well… Worst thing that can happen now is that we stay out of each other’s way.”

After absorbing Dutch’s words, Hosea persuaded himself to calm down, feeling his shoulders lighten a bit. “Well…” Hosea exhaled, throwing a hand up yieldingly. “All right. I’m off to go and see what else I can find out about those Braithwaites.” Hosea explained. “I’ll probably be back by tonight.”

Dutch gave a nod. “You do that, old girl. We’ll be here waitin’ for you.”

“Oh, I hope so.” Hosea responded warmly, heading off to his horse for the day.

* * *

As expected, Hosea had returned after dark. By the time he made his way home, he was mentally and physically shot, just about ready to drop down onto his bedroll once again (or perhaps sneak into Dutch’s tent for the night and squeeze himself on that cot). As he was dismounting Silver Dollar and threading his fingers through his hair, he fed him for the night and allowed him some time to rest. It had most certainly been a long day, and even Hosea needed to rest his legs. After splashing some water on his face and changing into a fresh shirt, he headed for Dutch’s tent and slipped inside soon after.

Dutch looked up from where he had been seated at his cot, this time without a book in hand. “Thought I heard you ride in.” He stated affectionately. “How was it?”

“Just fine.” Hosea said with a weak, tired smile. “Would have helped to have Arthur there. I meant to ask him this morning to come, but I didn’t see him around.” He explained, exhaling as he finally seated himself down next to Dutch. He was saddle-sore. They had been sitting around near Rhodes for long enough, playing both sides, and even going to the extent of burning the Grays’ tobacco fields; Hosea felt them closing in on something, and hopefully that something was money. He wanted to be certain, but they were always moving on the fly. “Long day?”

“You could say that.” Dutch smiled, and somehow, he seemed even more tired than Hosea. He leaned in, planting a light kiss to the corner of Hosea’s mouth lovingly.

Hosea hummed contently in response, leaning into the tender offering of tangible sentiment. “Where is Arthur, anyway? Off on another adventure of his?”

“I’m not sure.” Dutch said honestly, though he chuckled nonetheless. “Probably. Arthur didn’t ride back with us this morning.” He said simply, as if it were no big deal.

All at once, Hosea felt his shoulders tighten up, his face contorting into pure confusion. “What?”

“Well, he didn’t meet Micah and I back at the main road, so we figured he went off on his own to go do his own thing like he usually does.” Dutch explained.

A frown tugged at the older man’s lips, and he squinted in Dutch’s direction as he stood. “He didn’t come back with you?”

Dutch shook his head. “Like I said—”

“And none of this marked you as _strange_?” Hosea huffed, and he felt the irritation start to build in his chest. This wasn’t like Dutch, and that certainly didn’t sound like Arthur. Arthur had always checked back with the gang, no matter how long he was gone, no matter how far he was traveling. It seemed out of character for Arthur to ever disobey one of Dutch’s orders and run off on his own, let alone not let them know that he was okay. “Why didn’t you tell me this this morning?”

Another soft laugh erupted from Dutch’s throat, and a hand extended to reach for his hand. “Hosea, you are worryin’ too much...”

Hosea drew his hand back to dodge Dutch’s grip, and he felt angry now. Angrier than he had in a long time. “Anything could have happened to Arthur out there, Dutch.” He said. Now wasn’t the time for Dutch’s impromptu speeches of convincing. Hosea wouldn’t have that. Leaving without Arthur sounded about the biggest mistake Dutch could have made since Blackwater. “If he said he was going to check back with you, he _should_ have.”

Dutch’s own lips tugged into an ugly frown. “Are you doubting me, Hosea?”

“Yes, I am.” Hosea replied sourly, pupils steady upon Dutch’s, expression hardened and at loss of his usual affection. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again with an agitated exhale. “I’m going to look for him.”

“ _No,_ you ain’t.” Dutch replied, stepping in front of Hosea as he turned to exit the tent. “Arthur’s gonna be just fine—”

“And what if he isn’t?” Hosea asked, voice rising in volume, beginning to grow panicked and furious all at once. “Our boy is out there, and very much so possibly in danger, and all you can think about is doubt.” He was starting to catch the attention of other camp members, and perhaps the most eager listener was Charles, who had awoken from his rest by the campfire to eye Hosea and Dutch’s shadows through their tent with precaution. “All you can think about is your goddamned _faith_ , without any qualms of your own that our son could be dead, for all you might care!”

“Hosea—”

“No. _No._ Now, I’ve listened. I’ve gone along with you this far, but if you can’t agree with me on this… Well, then—” Hosea’s breath puffed from his chest yet again, even more so frustrated than before. “I suppose I’m on my own with this.” He said, stepping past Dutch now to exit the tent and head for his original direction; over to Silver Dollar, to ready his horse for travels and to check the ammunition and condition of his guns.

“Don’t you do this to me.” Dutch fumed, his tone holding warning, something almost threatening. “Don’t you betray me now—”

Hosea, who had already mounted his horse, narrowed his eyes at Dutch with great bewilderment. Silver Dollar protested, seeing as he had been riding around all day, but Hosea coaxed him with gentle strokes through his ears. “ _Betray_ you?” He was starting to break and snap now. “You’re betraying your own son by leaving him out there. You made a promise, Dutch.” He reminded bitterly, staring down at the other man from his horse. “Are you coming with me, or not?”

Dutch watched Hosea with uncertainty, and quite frankly, fear. It was obvious that he was afraid of any camp members turning on him now, but as much as he’d never admit it to himself or anyone else, Hosea had a point.

Before Dutch was able to answer, Charles appeared behind him. “I’m coming,” He told Hosea, but Dutch was swift to put a hand up.

“No.” Dutch said after a moment, looking between them with the quietest of sighs. “Charles… You stay here. Someone needs to watch for Arthur, and I trust ya.” He said, glancing to Hosea, apprehension still floating around within his tone and features. “I’ll come.”

Hosea gave a nod.

“But _only_ to show you he ain’t in any kind of trouble.” Dutch added, beginning to approach the Count to bring himself upon the saddle, grabbing ahold of the reins.

Charles gave an understanding nod, despite being very eager to come along and make sure Arthur was okay.

Hosea wasted no more time. He dug the spurs of his boots into the flank of Silver Dollar, knowing he’d have to feed him a hefty amount of sugar cubes and apples later on as an apology. Every second they wasted, Arthur could be in further danger. It was enough that Hosea had spent the entire day playing around with the Braithwaites as opposed to searching for his son. They departed from camp through the road of trees, Silver Dollar kicking up dirt as Hosea spurred him on, having a tight hold of the reins.

The Count was a fast horse, and didn’t struggle to keep up with Hosea’s. Nonetheless… “Will you slow down?” Dutch asked, a bit sharply.

Hosea ignored his words for the moment. “Where was this meeting of yours with Colm?” He asked, slowing down at the fork in the road anyhow to make sure he was headed in the right direction. 

Dutch exhaled. “Come on. Follow me. It’s a bit of a ride, but…”

“I don’t care.” Hosea replied. “Show me.”

* * *

By the time they had ridden farther than Silver Dollar’s ability to push forward, the sun was soon to rise within the sky, signifying that morning would soon come. He whinnied at Hosea, almost as a plead for rest, but he had only paused as Dutch rode ahead, stopping in front of him. Hosea pulled hard at the reins of his horse to prevent a collision.

“Hosea.” Dutch looked him up and down, a knowing gaze within his eye. “We should stop, and rest.”

“But—”

“Silver Dollar ain’t gonna be much happier if we keep pushin’. We’re not far. Let’s rest for a couple of hours. You haven’t eaten since yesterday.” Dutch replied.

Hosea worried at the reins with his fingers, glancing between Dutch and the land ahead of them. He knew if he kept pushing forward, Silver Dollar would throw him off and it would only prolong their journey. “Just… Just for a couple of hours.” He said, beginning to veer Silver Dollar off to the side of the road and into the trees with Dutch and the Count. “We have to keep moving after that.”

“We will.” Dutch replied. “You’re worrying too much.” He said, dismounting his horse as he began to work on gathering sticks for a fire. “I bet you Arthur’s back at camp right now, laughin’ at us like the pair of fools we are.”

Hosea would often succumb to Dutch’s humor, but not today. Scenarios kept flooding his mind of Arthur getting hurt, tortured, perhaps even killed by the hands of Colm O’Driscoll. Colm was unpredictable, and Hosea wasn’t sure what to expect if Arthur happened to be in danger.

For now, he rested.

* * *

After filling their bellies with a brief meal and resting by the fire, Hosea was already antsy to get going again. He didn’t like the looks of any of it, knowing that it was completely unlike Arthur for him to not check in with Dutch after an errand like that, especially with Colm O’Driscoll. And if he was being overdramatic— So what? He’d rather be safe than sorry.

Dutch grunted softly as he seated himself down next to Hosea, a hand smoothing to his back. “You all right?”

“We should get going.” Hosea said, moving to get up, but he stilled in his movements as Dutch grabbed his hand. He blinked over at Dutch.

“Let Silver Dollar rest a few more moments. Poor horse is probably gonna give out if you keep pushin’ him.” Dutch said, bringing Hosea’s hand into his own, squeezing it adoringly.

Hosea exhaled, glancing away. He was supposed to be angry with Dutch, enraged that he would allow Arthur to go off without notice, upset that Morgan had shown no signs of returning to camp. Dutch always managed to pry into his chest and open him up in a way that made Hosea melt.

“You’re always workin’ yourself up, Hosea. Can’t you ever let yourself have a little reprieve?” Dutch chimed.

Hosea huffed. “Not when Colm O’Driscoll’s painted in this nasty picture.”

“Listen… I don’t trust him for a second either. But… We had a chance to put the past behind us.” Dutch explained. “Micah thought—”

“Thought what?” Hosea asked, feeling his anger beginning to rise again. “That it was a good idea?” He shook his head, releasing Dutch’s hand as he moved to stand. “Just as he thought Blackwater was a good idea, right?” Hosea asked. “The last judgement you should be taking advice from is Mr. Bell. All he’s seemed to do is to get us into trouble.”

“Hosea—”

“Am I _wrong_? That fool’s gotten us into enough trouble already—”

“Hosea, _quiet_!” Dutch hissed sharply, standing up to face Hosea in the opposite direction. “Look.”

Hosea turned and blinked over, squinting through the trees to see two riders in the distance, making their way along the road. He glanced to Dutch, before nudging his shoulder and crouching down, approaching the side of the road behind the bushes, doing his best not to be seen. Dutch joined him after a moment.

They were O’Driscolls, for sure. Ratty looking men, with a mean look and an accent to their words.

“What does boss want with him, anyway?” One of the O’Driscoll’s complained. “And why we gotta do patrol?”

“You know what he wants, ya idiot.” The other one grumbled back. “Let’s get back to camp before he makes a scene. He’s been all jolly lately about his plan. I don’t wanna ruin it.”

Hosea watched as they headed further down the road, looking to Dutch pleadingly. “They could be talking about Arthur. Let’s follow them.”

Dutch gave a nod. “All right. Late’s take the Count. Silver Dollar will make too much noise with that whinnying.”

* * *

Hosea clung to Dutch from the back of his saddle while Dutch had ahold of the reins. They followed the prints of the O’Driscoll’s horses, and it was a bit easier with the mud fresh and moist, taking it slow so that they could strike at nighttime and follow at a safe distance.

“You okay back there, old girl?” Dutch asked quietly and gently, glancing over his shoulder to take a look at him.

Hosea shifted a bit closer, arms remaining around Dutch’s waist, fumbling nervously with the button of his red velvet vest. “I’m fine.”

“You’re shakin’ like a leaf.” He replied with a narrowed brow. “You really worried about this?”

“It’s Arthur, Dutch.” Hosea responded back. “How could I not be?”

“Hosea—”

“Just… Trust me on this, Dutch.” Hosea murmured. “It don’t feel right at all.”

Dutch quieted for a moment, spurring the Count to go a bit faster. “All right. I trust you.” He replied. “Look— Up ahead. I see some light. We should travel on foot from here.” He explained, lowering his voice as he veered his horse into the trees. The two of them dismounted, Hosea grabbing ahold of his repeater while Dutch grabbed dual revolvers. “C’mon. Let’s take a look.”

Hosea followed after, feeling his nerves bunch up and his chest tighten. He hoped that Arthur wasn’t there. He hoped that Dutch was right, and that he had ridden off after the parley, and that Micah’s plan wasn’t a fallout for once. It was a fat chance. Hosea had to keep focused, so he did exactly that.

Peering over the area from the ledge they were situated at, Hosea pulled his binoculars from his satchel.

“You see anything?” Dutch asked, as Hosea rose them to his eyes, peering through them anxiously.

“I see a whole lot of O’Driscolls.” Hosea commented quietly, bringing his binoculars around the area. “No sign of Arthur.”

“Well, maybe it’s because he ain’t _here_.” Dutch murmured. “I don’t wanna hang around too long.”

Hosea ignored him, still peering around.

“Hosea, we’ve taken a look. I ain’t seen anyone tied up to any trees or—”

“Wait… There.” Hosea said, keeping the binoculars steady now, peering in one area.

“What is it?”

Hosea slowly brought the binoculars down, glancing to Dutch as he handed them over. “Colm.”

Dutch eyed him warily, taking ahold of the binoculars, bringing them up to his face as he observed from the distance. Colm had just seemingly come out from a basement area, and a plate of food was within his hand. No one else at camp actually seemed to be eating. “He’s got a plate.” Dutch murmured. “Just came from that cellar, I think. You think Arthur’s there—”

Dutch brought down the binoculars, his eyes widening slightly to see that Hosea had already fled from his side to advance forward, through the darkness of the night and towards the heavily packed O’Driscoll camp. Swearing under his breath, he tucked the binoculars away and began to follow after the other man, catching up to him just in time for the two of them to settle behind a bunch of crates to obscure them from view of any gang members. “What are you _doing_?” Dutch hissed.

“Getting our son back.” Hosea replied near-silently, rifle at the ready in his hands, just in case he needed it. “I’m going to check out that cellar. Watch my back.”

“Hosea, don’t—” Dutch exhaled as the other man moved forward, still ignoring his words, but he took a moment’s time to peer around camp and make sure no one was aware of their presence. Hosea was as quiet as a mouse, crouching down from crate to tent, gun at the ready in case the O’Driscolls noticed. Dutch followed along just as quietly, trying to cope with the fact that Colm was here, off towards the front of their little camp, seemingly preparing for a ride out. If they were going to find anything out, the time would be now.

Dutch was cut off from Hosea at one point or another, having to stop as two O’Driscolls passed by the wooden box he had been hiding behind. He didn’t even have a chance to peek over, Hosea now out of sight, disappearing into the cellar of the ground.

Everything was quiet for a while. Dutch waited, feeling the sweat collect at his brow as his nerves bundled considerably. He didn’t like the idea of Hosea down in that cellar alone, but he didn’t have a chance to run for it and follow after Mr. Matthews. It was too risky of a move, for he was too afraid to show any sliver of his presence there without ruining their chances to get out of there alive. _Goddamn it, Hosea._ Dutch thought to himself. _Why did we have to run off here?_

Growing impatient, Dutch brought his head up to peer over his hiding spot again, searching desperately for any sign of his beloved. He was beginning to panic, feeling the clamminess of his palms increase, joints rigid and expression taut. He almost made a run for the cellar to make sure Hosea was okay, but the next sight he witnessed both brought relief to Dutch’s shoulders as well as allowed his blood to run cold.

Resurfacing from the cellar after a few minutes was Hosea, doing his best to drag along a near-unconscious Arthur. The poor boy looked bloodied and beaten, gripping at Hosea like a lifeline, oh-so-weak and quite bruised up from the looks of it. Arthur’s good arm was hooked around Hosea’s, but he was struggling to press on.

Dutch had to drag himself from his own disbelief in order to realize that they needed to get Arthur out of there, and fast.

Hosea was real cautious, always was, and he was beginning to make his way back to the Dutch, hoping to reach the safe area of the darkness and the trees to make sure they could get Arthur out alive. Dutch watched their every move, eyeing the unaware O’Driscolls like prey, Dutch’s grip on his revolvers tight as Hosea finally approached with dear Arthur.

“Arthur,” Dutch breathed out, and he looked even worse up close. From the skin that showed from his union suit, it was obvious that Colm had had his fun with him. He was littered in cuts and bruises, the (now cauterized) wound at Arthur’s shoulder not far from anything nasty, the circles under his eyes evident, deep and dark from his probable lack of sleep. “Are you o—”

“We need to get him out of here.” Hosea said sharply. They couldn’t waste any more time, as upset as Hosea was with Dutch, and they had to get back to camp before Arthur slipped into anything more serious.

“Come on.” Dutch moved an arm around Arthur’s waist for support. “Let’s get you home.”

* * *

It was safe to say that the Count wasn’t happy with three full-grown men on its back and saddle, but with a couple of treats and some coaxing from Dutch, the horse managed to get all three of them home. Arthur was sandwiched between Hosea and Dutch on the saddle to make sure he wouldn’t fall off, Hosea’s grip on his son incredibly tight, as if he were afraid to let go.

Hosea would never let Arthur slip away like this again.

* * *

The next three days for the camp had been horrifically tense. Hosea hadn’t left Arthur’s side at his tent for a second, nor had he spoken to Dutch in all that time. Every day, Matthews remained right next to Arthur’s cot, a hand in his son’s, grip gentle and loving as he waited, and waited, and waited.

As soon as they had gotten back to camp, Arthur had fallen unconscious and his fever had spiked. He was certainly in a bad way. His skin was hot and flushed, and it was a job and a half to pry the union suit from his body after it had dried to his bloodied skin and had been previously soaked with the oozing fluids of his now-wrapped shoulder wound. Hosea and Miss Grimshaw had worked extensively on it, making sure to change it as frequently as possible to prevent infection, Charles often lingering around nearly as much as Hosea to make sure Arthur would be okay. At this point, Charles had only left camp to hunt them a meal. Otherwise, he found himself right next to Hosea at Arthur’s tent, or at least, next to him when he was in the mood for company.

Over the last three days, Dutch had smoked too many cigars and filled his head with thoughts that could sure enough kill him. He felt foolish and ashamed to think that Arthur was okay. If Hosea hadn’t convinced him, if Hosea hadn’t _known_ , Arthur might’ve been dead by the end of the week, if at this point in time he’d even recover from his fever. Colm was a sick, snake-like bastard, and Dutch wasn’t sure why he had ever believed the other man for a second in _all being well._

All being well was certainly not Arthur, half-dead on his cot with Hosea grasping at his hand like it’d be the last time he’d find it warm.

Dutch hadn’t gone near Arthur’s tent once. He was too fearful of Hosea, of how much he had disappointed the other man, and was too ashamed to stare upon his very son who he might’ve failed, if Arthur didn’t make it out alive. He didn’t sleep at night, either. Micah would come sauntering into his tent every so often, but as soon as he would mumble anything close to _it’s time to let him go, Dutch_ , he’d bark at Mr. Bell to leave his tent while Dutch closed shut the novel he had struggled to concentrate on and smoked another cigarette.

On the fourth day, Arthur woke up.

Charles had finally convinced Hosea that morning to go off and get some rest. He hadn’t slept once since Arthur’s return, hunched over his stool next to Arthur’s bed, and Charles had had enough. He reassured Hosea that he’d sit right next to Arthur the entire time while Hosea slept, even for a couple of hours, and after some persuasion and a hand on his shoulder, Hosea gave in. He eyed Arthur the entire time, all of the way back to his tent, but as soon as Hosea had laid down onto his bedroll, he was out like a light. The last few days had exhausted him to no end.

After a couple of hours rest, Hosea had been shaken awake by John, who was claiming in both elation and panic that Arthur had woken up. Hosea was on his feet in no time, shaking his haziness from his sleep, his legs carrying him over without reluctance. There was a crowd around Arthur’s tent, and Hosea had to push himself through, desperate to see Arthur awake, and alive.

When he finally laid his eyes upon the younger man, he felt a lot of the weight leave his shoulders. Arthur was sitting up, seemingly half-dazed, with Charles’ hand on his shoulder while Arthur nursed a cup of water. His fever seemed to have broken, some color returning to his face, but Charles was helping him to stay put, not wanting to push him far after finally coming out of his unconscious state.

“Arthur,” Hosea said, approaching with a relieved expression, throwing his arms around Arthur, careful of his shoulder as he pulled him close.

Arthur grunted, flinching just a bit, but his free hand came up, gripping at Hosea’s shirt as he returned the embrace. “Hosea.” He grunted out. 

Hosea pulled back, brushing the sweaty strands of Arthur’s golden hair from his face, smiling widely down at his son as he held either side of his face tenderly. “You’re all right now, Arthur. You’re home.”

Arthur made another soft sound, not having the energy for much else, breathing a bit shallow.

“Give them some space, you fools!” Miss Grimshaw scolded, beginning to break up the crowd around Arthur’s tent, and by the time everyone dispersed, it was only Charles, Hosea and John that lingered behind.

“How you feelin’, brother?” John asked as he stood behind Hosea, worry in his features.

Arthur chuckled weakly, trying to lean away from Hosea’s hands, but it was a failed attempt, as Hosea was wiping Arthur’s forehead with a wet rag. “M’fine.”

“His fever seems to be down.” Charles replied warmly to Hosea.

“Maybe, but you still have to take it easy.” Hosea said firmly, though his touch was gentle. His hand smoothed up and down his arm, before he squeezed his good shoulder.

Arthur hummed in response, swallowing at the dryness in his throat. “Where’s Dutch?”

Hosea paused for a moment, setting the rag aside. “In his tent.”

Arthur eyed Dutch’s tent from his cot, where the flap was closed and no movement came from within. He looked up to Hosea with a curious expression, almost asking as to why Dutch wasn’t around.

Hosea exhaled softly, kissing Arthur’s head, bringing hair from his face again. “I don’t want you to worry about—”

“Wanna see him.” Arthur said quietly after a moment. He could tell Hosea didn’t think that was the best idea, but Arthur wasn’t going to let it go.

Hosea gave a nod after a moment of thought. “I’ll go talk to him.”

* * *

Dutch was seated upon his cot when Hosea had entered, his stare firm to the ground, hunched over as he fingered his moustache in pure anxiety. He had heard previously the chaos of camp upon Arthur’s awakening, but he didn’t have it in him to go out there. He felt heavy with guilt, and worried all of the same that this would be it for Hosea and Arthur’s loyalty to him. He had let them both down, quite aggressively so, and Dutch was struggling to come to terms with the fact that all of this was his fault.

He sat up when Hosea came in through the flaps, dark eyes pooled with trepidation. “Arthur— Is he all right?” He asked swiftly.

Hosea gave a small nod. “He wants to see you.”

Dutch didn’t move from his spot, glancing away in shame.

“I—… I can’t.”

Hosea observed Dutch for a moment. He had really never seen the other man so reserved, and seemingly, so abashed. He made his way over slowly, seating himself down next to Dutch, hands rested in his lap as he settled on his words.

“You must be upset with me.” Dutch commented, keeping his eyes ahead.

“I am.” Hosea admitted, looking over to van der Linde with an uncertain expression. “When I went down in that cellar, Arthur was hung by his ankles. Like an animal.”

Dutch felt guilt warp in his chest undeniably.

“If Arthur hadn’t stopped me to cauterize the bullet wound in his shoulder, it might’ve festered, too. We’re lucky he’s alive.” Hosea said quietly. “You had made a promise, Dutch—”

“I know.” Dutch mumbled, and for a moment, Hosea seemed surprised. He let Dutch continue. “I was a fool for not going back for him.” He exhaled shakily, finally meeting Hosea’s eyes. “I didn’t want to believe Arthur was in danger, simply because I didn’t want him to be.” He shook his head with a frown directed towards himself. “What an idiot I am.”

Hosea hummed after a moment, “Maybe even more of an idiot than Bill.”

Dutch huffed, releasing a short bout of air that signified something close to shameful laughter. “Maybe.”

“Dutch,” Hosea caught his stare again, expression remaining firm. “What’re we doing?”

The darker-haired man shook his head, without answer.

“It seems like we’re descending ourselves, the people of this camp, into madness.” Hosea explained. “We’re wanted men in too many states. We’re farther South than we’ve ever wanted to be, and the Pinkertons seemed to know our every move.”

“I’m trying, Hosea, I—… I had a _plan_.” Dutch murmured sharply.

“I know you are.” Hosea said calmly after a moment, and he finally reached forward, placing a hand upon the small of Dutch’s back.

He leaned into Hosea’s touch almost instantly, something he had missed over the last couple of days quite greatly.

“And we get off-track sometimes. But, Dutch… We’re right up against Flat Iron Lake. The only way we can go is South, without getting shot by those we’ve managed to anger along the way.” He explained. “And Arthur nearly died.”

The words caused Dutch’s skin to crawl with something unpleasant.

“Listen to me.” Hosea said, gentler this time as his pupils resolved with Dutch’s. “We can’t lose this now. We have to be smarter, from here and out.”

Dutch gave an immediate nod, eyes glistening with self-blame.

“I love you, and I love our boys. But I most certainly will not lose anyone else to Colm O’Driscoll.” Hosea whispered, finally reaching up, a hand smoothing up to the side of Dutch’s face. “Now will you please leave this goddamned tent and stop wallowing?”

Dutch gave another nod, and the mental battle within himself was evident through his features.

Hosea leaned forward, placing a kiss to his brow, pulling him close for a moment. Dutch’s face found his collarbone, and he shut his eyes as he tucked himself close, Hosea resting his chin upon his head as he smoothed a hand up and down his back.

“I love you, too.” Dutch murmured against his shirt.

Hosea smiled, closing his eyes as the movement of his hands never halted. “You better.” He mumbled, his tone holding something warm for the first time since they found Arthur. “This doesn’t mean I’m not still angry, you know.” He teased after a moment.

Dutch pulled back with a delicate smile. “I’ll have to make it up to you.”

“Not me.” Hosea replied, placing a hand on his shoulder. “To Arthur. Come on.” He said, removing his hand, only to take Dutch’s within his own.

Dutch inhaled a bit, taking ahold of Hosea’s hand as the both of them stood, squeezing his in his grip nervously.

They released their hands as they exited the tent, Dutch following Hosea shortly behind to Arthur’s tent, where Charles had gotten him something to eat, asking him to eat slowly and take it easy.

Arthur was obviously hungry after not having eaten for three days, but the spoon in his hand stilled as he looked up, finding Dutch first and foremost as the pair of men approached. He set the bowl down, eyeing the two of them curiously, before his stare settled upon Dutch.

“Arthur,” Dutch managed to breathe out, slowly taking a seat on the stool in front of Arthur’s bed, reaching out to place a hand on his knee. His fingers shook as he did so. “My dear boy.”

“Dutch,” Arthur greeted weakly, patting his hand with a tilt of his head.

“I—…” Dutch tried to search his brain for all of the right words, but none seemed to arise from his throat. “Arthur, I’m…” He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling as his chest remained unsettled.

“Hey,” Arthur began, squeezing Dutch’s hand now. “Don’t beat yourself up, you hear? Colm…”

“No, Arthur.” Dutch shook his head, grasping at his hand in return. “I am so sorry.” He said, finally allowing the words to fall from his lips. “I thought that—” He swallowed, “I never would’ve…” He shook his head again. “I should’ve come lookin’ for you the moment you went missing.” He stated, sitting up a bit. “Micah and I assumed you had gone off on your own, after the parley, and… It was stupid. _I_ was stupid.” He mumbled.

Hosea placed a hand on Dutch’s back.

“If Hosea here hadn’t drilled it in my brain, I…”

“We ain’t gotta worry about that, Dutch.” Arthur reassured. “Listen— Colm might’ve had me, the sick son of a bitch, but m’here. I’ve suffered worse, and you know that. I ain’t upset with you.”

Dutch blinked up at him in disbelief. He almost wanted Arthur to be angry at him, to take the consequences he should have been given.

Arthur had never seen Dutch so vulnerable before. He gripped at his hand again, offering comforting features towards the other man. “Colm was plannin’ on havin’ you come rescue me, except he was gonna call the law on you, ‘soon as you arrived. Stupid bastard barely noticed Hosea takin’ me off them chains.”

Dutch’s frown at his lips never left. “I put you in danger, Arthur.”

“No, you didn’t, you fool. It was Pearson’s silly idea, and Micah thought it was all good and grand.” Arthur grumbled. “Hell, even I went along with it. Sure, it seemed like a good plan, but… Gotta expect the worst with Colm O’Driscoll.” He explained.

He smoothed his thumb over Arthur’s hand, worrying at his knuckles.

Arthur offered a tiny smile. “When’s the last you pair o’fools slept?” He asked, directing his question to both Hosea and Dutch now.

Hosea chuckled a bit. “Maybe too long.” He commented.

Dutch stood from the stool, a sad smile at his lips as he rested a hand on Arthur’s bicep. “You sure you’re okay, Arthur?”

“Sure am.” Arthur replied, looking up to him tiredly. “Jus’ need a couple’a days rest, and I’ll be back on my feet.” He promised.

“Don’t you worry about that.” Dutch responded softly, and he moved forward, bringing his arms around Arthur, mimicking Hosea’s hug from before.

Arthur didn’t remember the last time Dutch had given him a hug, but he accepted it instantly, melting within his mentor’s touch as he tucked himself into the other man’s chest where he sat. He released an unsteady breath, gripping at Dutch like his life depended on it, eyes squeezing shut as he relinquished in Dutch’s arms around his body. “Don’t look so sad now, old man.” He mumbled into his vest.

Dutch smiled, and his eyelids brimmed with tears as he held him close. Arthur was here now; for the moment, everything was okay.


	5. Journal Entry II: Not For Wandering Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Dutch have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone!! this is a little bit of an interlude that'll set up the chapters later to come. enjoy! thank you for the continuous love!

Arthur felt like he was drowning.

His lungs felt weighted, chest heavy, like he was trying to breach the surface but something was bringing him down. He was grasping in the dark, being swallowed whole by the images in his head—

Awakening with a start, Arthur took in a sharp inhale of breath. A sheen of sweat was slick at his brow and soaked his union suit, and he had to sit up in order to catch his breath. Arthur hadn’t had a nightmare such as this since he was young. He had never been able to sleep all that well the first couple of months, maybe even years, at camp, always being hushed back to sleep by Hosea, or read back to bed by Dutch.

It was different now, however. He was a thirty-six year old man recovering from being strung-up in a cellar and shot in the shoulder with the bullet laid to rest inside about one week ago. It was no longer any more fitful sleeps of harmless nightmares. Colm O’Driscoll had had him once already, and his mind seemed to present to him the idea that he might as well have him again, for as much time as he pleased, for as long as he wanted to draw out Arthur’s pain.

He did have to remind himself, however, that he was back at camp. Dutch was sleeping a mere ten feet away from him in his own camp (maybe even Hosea, if the old man had snuck in), and he was as safe as could be at the moment. 

However, it had been his third nightmare that night, all within the span of two hours. He sat up a bit now, reaching for the silver pocket watch he had stolen a couple of weeks ago that rested on his crate.

Three thirty-four a.m.

“Christ,” Arthur sighed softly, swearing under his breath as he set the watch back down. There was no way he was going to sleep now. It’d be normal for him to be up and about in less than three hours from the present time, so he supposed if his body wasn’t going to let him sleep, he might as well be up.

It seemed all fair and well, but after Arthur rinsed himself in the lake and put on a fresh set of clothes, he seemed to grow increasingly antsy upon realizing that only a short amount of time had actually passed. He even began to do chores around camp at a crisp four in the morning, hoisting hay bales and grabbing water from the river to pour into the wash bin. By the time he had nothing left to do, he found himself sitting on the shore of Flat Iron Lake where Clemens Point was located on, a lead pencil and his journal in hand.

He was cross-legged on the sand, scribbling away on his page, beginning to feel a bit more at ease now that he had settled. His mind was off the nightmares for now, his gaze following the shape of the script coming out of his pencil.

“What’re you doing up this early?”

Dutch’s voice flooded his ears, and Arthur sat up just a bit from where he was hunched over his journal, glancing over his shoulder as he watched his mentor approach. The man was still in his pajamas, which constituted a soft pair of pants and his union suit beneath it, red to match the rest of his authentic appearance. Arthur gave a grumble, shutting his journal, his stare following Dutch as the other man settled next to him upon the sand.

“Had a nightmare.” Arthur mumbled after a moment.

Dutch looked to Arthur with a concerned expression now. “A nightmare?” He asked, reaching out as he placed his hand on Arthur’s back.

“Yeah.” Arthur nodded, scrubbing at his eye as he set his journal aside. “Sorta like… When I was a boy.”

“I remember.” Dutch nodded, beginning to rub his hand up and down Arthur’s back. “You wanna talk about it?”

He sighed gently, but not towards Dutch. “I ain’t too sure.” Arthur murmured. “Haven’t had nightmares in years.”

“We only have to if you want to.” Dutch replied, and for the moment, he sounded like Hosea. Maybe Mr. Matthews was rubbing off on Dutch after all.

Arthur was silent for a little while, relishing in his mentor’s touch on his back, eyes feeling heavy despite the inability to fall asleep. After a moment, he began to speak once more. “It was… with Colm.” His voice had grown quieter, if that were possible. “He was pokin’ and stabbin’ at me, torturin’ me like he meant it…” He huffed out a bitter laugh. “This time, though, he didn’t seem to have a reason for doin’ it. I was upside down again, and his knife…” He paused again, and he felt Dutch’s hand squeeze his shoulder.

“It’s okay.” Dutch said softly, keeping his hand upon his shoulder for the moment. “We ain’t gotta talk about it, my boy.”

Arthur gave a nod. He wasn’t sure he could. The other two nightmares he had had weren’t any better, if not worse.

“Dutch, I—… I’ve been meanin’ to ask you something.” Arthur spoke up, looking to him with a slightly shaken expression.

Dutch found Arthur’s eyes in curiosity, tilting his head in the slightest.

Arthur exhaled unsteadily, and he felt Dutch’s ringed fingers move down to his bicep to squeeze gently there. “I…” He tried to focus on his breathing. “Dutch, I ain’t too sure we’re headin’ in the right direction.”

Dutch’s brow furrowed a bit. “What do you mean, son?”

“I mean… I mean that— Well, I just think…” Arthur tried to get his words out properly, as not to upset Dutch. “Dutch, I’m worried about you. If Colm… If you would’a been caught, when you came to get me, I… I would’a never forgiven myself.” He swallowed. “And I just think that… I… What are we _doin’_ here, Dutch?” His question came out as a whisper. “We’re farther from the West than before, and we gotta _whole_ lotta money sittin’ back in Blackwater that could really give these folks a good home.” Arthur said, finally looking over at Dutch now.

Dutch slowly pulled his hand away, a slight frown at his lips. “Are you doubtin’ me, son?”

“No.” Arthur shook his head immediately, “Dutch, you know I always got your back. Don’t you ever think otherwise.” He said firmly. “I just think—”

“You think _what_ , Arthur?” Dutch asked curiously, his tone holding plenty of warning. Arthur wasn’t sure how to take it.

Arthur observed his features, a frown of his own appearing at his lips. “I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt.” He said, glancing down to his boots now, his knees brought up just a bit where his elbows were propped up on them.

“Arthur… I _need_ you on my side. You understand me?” Dutch said firmly, his eyes never leaving Arthur.

“I _am_ on your side, Dutch. All m’sayin’ is that you’ve been… You’ve got a lot on your plate, and part of me is worried you’re gonna—”

“Going to what, Arthur?”

“That you’re gonna go too far.” The words slipped from his mouth much faster than Arthur’s brain could stop him from doing so. He regretted them instantly, knowing that Dutch was sensitive when it came to loyalty to the gang, and he could feel the man’s eyes burning holes into him. “Like you had in Blackwater.”

“Too far.” Dutch muttered, more to himself, glaring at Arthur like he’d just shot him. “Is that what you’re writin’ in that silly journal of yours?”

Arthur blinked. “No, Dutch, it ain’t like that.”

“How is it, then, Arthur? You, doubtin’ my plans, sayin’ no to my ideas, thinkin’ everything I do is gonna lead us to _catastrophe._ ” Dutch spat, his tone venomous.

“I didn’t say that.” Arthur said firmly, trying to coax Dutch out of his momentary paranoia. “Dutch— Listen to me…”

“I’ve done everything for you, son. I took you from the streets, took care of you ‘til you grew, helped you to read n’write n’kept you fed through all your days. I may not be _perfect_ , Arthur, but goddamnit, you are my _boy_ , and I will not have you stand against me.”

“ _Dutch_.” Arthur rose his voice a little now, and he reached out, placing a hand on Dutch’s arm. “M’here.” He said, his face strained with concern towards the older man. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. I told you already, I always got your back.”

Dutch took a moment to study Arthur’s features, beginning to grow aware of himself gradually, dark eyes searching Arthur’s tired expression within the moonlight.

“I ain’t goin’ no where.” Arthur repeated softly, patting Dutch’s arm once or twice. “You, n’Hosea… This gang… S’all I got. Wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Swallowing thickly, Dutch finally released a breath, slowly beginning to nod as he tore his eyes away from his tone.

Arthur glanced away, too, looking to the small ripples of the lake water in hopes of the tension washing away.

“I’m sorry, son.” Dutch mumbled. “I… I ain’t been myself.”

Arthur looked to him, a curious expression within his eyes. “Don’t think any of us have.” He murmured back. “Jus’... Think about it, okay?”

Dutch didn’t move for a moment or so, but he did eventually nod, near-unnoticeable.

“Think m’gonna try and get some rest.” Arthur mumbled, his tiredness beginning to catch up to him. “You should, too.”

Dutch gave another small nod, still quiet.

Arthur stood, mumbling a light, ‘good night’ as he made his way back to his tent, Dutch watching the shore for a while. It was only when he began to get up himself that he noticed Arthur had left his journal aside on the sand, his lead pencil stuck within the page he had been working on.

Glancing over, Dutch spotted Arthur back upon his cot already, seemingly still. He glanced back to the journal and reached out for it, taking it into his hands, never quite expecting himself to ever come close to Arthur’s personal world. It was most definitely wrong, but Dutch’s curiosity got the best of him.

“Let’s _really_ see if you’re on my side.” Dutch grumbled to himself, more out of pettiness than anything, opening up to the page the lead pencil had been resting. It fell out of the journal and into his lap, Dutch picking it up as he read over the words on the page.

> _For the first time in a while, I feel scared. I ain’t sure where we’re heading, but I’m real worried. About little Jack, about John, who ain’t stopped coughing since Horseshoe Overlook, about all of the women._
> 
> _Most of all, I’m worried about Dutch. It hurts me to see him get so crazy, and I mean panic-crazy. I wish I could do something to help him. He and Hosea taught me everything I know._
> 
> _Part of me wonders if one day, we’ll ever leave this mess behind us. Hosea and Dutch, they deserve a life together. A real one. Didn’t think I’d ever want to leave this life, but if the Pinkertons put a bullet in either of my fathers, I won’t be able to handle it._
> 
> _Maybe I’ll talk to Dutch soon, and hope he understands._

Dutch stared down at the page with bleary eyes, swiftly shutting the journal, refusing to read any further. A pit of guilt formed in his stomach, and before he headed back to his tent to sit up for a while, he placed Arhtur’s journal back on his table gingerly, pausing next to his cot.

Arthur seemed to be sleeping peacefully for the moment, chest rising and falling slowly.

Approaching, Dutch brushed Arthur’s hair back from his head, and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. 

“Sleep well, my boy.” Dutch whispered, before pulling back and retreating to his tent, stepping inside and bringing the flap closed.

Hosea’s eyes peeled open as he felt Dutch crawl in next to him within the cot, shifting over a little to make some room. With a half-lidded expression, Hosea grumbled quietly, pulling Dutch close as his face burrowed into Hosea’s soft shirt.

“I love you.” Dutch mumbled quietly into the fabric, wanting to push away his thoughts for the rest of the night.

“Love you, too.” Hosea whispered, sliding delicate fingers through Dutch’s hair, before slipping back into the slumber he had been in previously.

Dutch didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.


	6. A Grain of Salt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The camp loses another, and Arthur wonders what path Dutch will decide on taking next.

Hosea smoothed a hand over John’s forehead with the wet rag in his hands, urging him to lay back down to rest for a little while longer. “Don’t overwhelm yourself.”

John released a couple of rough coughs, trying to shoo away Hosea’s worrying hand. “M’fine.”

“You’ve been coughing like a lunatic for the past week. I’m not buying it.” Hosea said firmly, wanting to do his best to care for John.

“Yeah?” Another cough. “You’ve been coughin’ like that for years.” John chimed.

Hosea managed a small huff, though it flooded out into a gentle laugh. “All right, now, no need to beat up your old man.”

Dutch poked his head into the tent, stepping inside with a gentler expression than usual. “Arthur took Abigail and Jack for a ride. Figured it’d be good to distract them for a bit.” He explained, slowly making his way in to approach John’s cot with a worried stare. “How you feelin’, son?”

“M’feeling fine.” John repeated, eyeing Hosea warily. “Fine enough to work, that’s for sure. S’just a cough.”

“All right, well… Just take it easy.” Dutch patted John’s knee warmly.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Hosea asked Dutch, and the other man had been taken aback for a moment, giving a slow nod after a beat or two. “We’ll be right outside, John.”

John grumbled. “I ain’t dyin’, friend.”

Hosea hushed him, taking a hold of Dutch’s sleeve as he tugged him away from John’s cot, and out of the tent. As they left, Hosea’s eyes scanned the camp, until he spotted Tilly aside. “Tilly, could you watch over John for a second?” He called out, but a soft chuckle erupted from Dutch, and Hosea felt a hand on his shoulder as he turned back towards the other man.

“Relax, Hosea.” He said softly, beginning to guide Hosea away from John’s tent, off to the side where they’d have a little more privacy. “John’s gonna be just fine. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” Dutch asked, though he hid much of his anxiety within his cheery words, wondering if Hosea would bring up something serious. Was Hosea leaving him? Would he be taking John with him? Was Arthur in trouble again?

Hosea exhaled, slowly turning to face Dutch again. “I didn’t want to say it in front of John, because I knew he’d say no, but I think we should take him to the doctor.” He said, searching Dutch’s eyes as he watched the other man’s expression. “He doesn’t sound too good, Dutch.”

Dutch felt momentarily relief flood his veins, smoothing the hand on Hosea’s shoulder down to his wrist to squeeze gently. He was trying to learn to listen more, especially after the situation with Colm and Arthur, but sometimes, he was continuously blinded by his own ego. “You sure? I mean… We got one more job, Hosea, and we’re good. Remember? One more big score.”

“And what do you supposed that would be?” Hosea rose a brow. “You promised—”

“Will you _quit_ remindin’ me? I know what I promised, Hosea, I was there, if you don’t recall.” Dutch said firmly, feeling frustration rise up within his chest.

“I wouldn’t have trouble reminding you, Dutch, if you didn’t keep breaking it.” Hosea said with a frown. “John looks real sickly. He’s feverish all the time now. And don’t make me bring up that ridiculous deal with Colm, either—”

“Don’t raise your voice around me.” Dutch warned, taking a step forward, reaching up to take ahold of Hosea’s wrist where the other man waved his finger in his face. “Just who do you think you’re talking to?”

“Who I’m talking to?” Hosea narrowed his eyes. “I’m talking to the man that I love. Who I hope would understand my concern.” He said, dragging his hand away from Dutch’s grip.

Dutch frowned for a second, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Hosea beat him to it.

“You’re changing, Dutch.” Hosea said, hurt flashing within his features as he stared over the other man’s. “And not in the good way.”

“I don’t need this kind of doubt from you.” Dutch said sharply. “You, n’Arthur, voicin’ your similar concerns— Are you against me? Is that it?”

Hosea watched him in pure confusion. “Arthur?”

“Yeah, Arthur.” Dutch replied, as if Hosea should know what he was talking about. “Claimin’ that I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. That I’m leading all you ‘poor, lost souls’ astray, is that it?”

“No, Dutch.” Hosea exhaled, reaching up to take the other man’s face into his hands, realizing the other man’s paranoia for the moment. “Relax for a moment.”

Dutch grumbled, though he leaned into Hosea’s touch nonetheless, releasing a light exhale.

“I’m not trying to pick a fight.” Hosea reassured, finding his dark stare, captivating it with his lighter eyes. “In fact, quite the opposite. I ain’t sure how much of a fight I’ve got left.” He admitted.

Dutch’s features softened now, and he reached up, resting his hand over one of Hosea’s where it rested at his cheek, turning his chin to kiss the other man’s palm. “I don’t think that’s true.” He replied gently, thinking it over for a couple of moments. “M’sorry, Hosea.”

“I know.” Hosea said, in a near-whisper, though he finally released Dutch, knowing they couldn’t linger around so long in such an intimate way. “If you’re too worried about going to the doctor with me, I’ll take Arthur.” He reassured. “Arthur’s good with that kind of stuff.”

Dutch still eyed Hosea with uncertainty, though he nodded. “That might be best.” He exhaled softly. “When Arthur gets back, I have to remind him— Sheriff Gray was interested in talking something out with me. Figured I’ll send him with a couple of extra men. Maybe you can take John on the way.” He offered.

Hosea grumbled. “With how much trouble we’ve caused? Is it that smart to travel together like that?”

Dutch tried to read his expression to the best of his ability. “Well, why don’t you head in with John on a wagon after Arthur and Micah scout ahead?”

Hosea frowned now. “Micah? You want to send Micah on a job with Arthur?”

“Well— Come on. They’re both grown boys.” Dutch chastised. “Besides, they don’t get along well at all, and I need the team to stick together. I trust Micah.”

“I don’t.” Hosea said blatantly, sighing. “All right, fine. But I don’t want too many people traveling with Arthur. The less attention, the better.”

Dutch reached forward, placing a hand upon Hosea’s shoulder tenderly. “Don’t you worry. It’ll all run nice and smooth.”

* * *

“You want me to go with _him_?” Arthur’s eyes narrowed, and he gestured a hand towards Micah in bewilderment. “You sure you ain’t crazy?”

“Oh, come on, Morgan,” Micah cooed, sitting up a bit from where he had been lounging upon a crate, quite obnoxiously at that. Hosea was readying a wagon for John, of which Marston didn’t feel as if he needed, despite Hosea continuing to prepare it. “We ought to be friends soon enough.”

Arthur grumbled to himself, glancing to Dutch, evidently unamused. “What exactly is it that Sheriff Gray wants?”

“Would you relax, Arthur?” Dutch replied, entertained in opposition to Arthur’s feelings. “It should be a quick job. Maybe a bounty.”

“Really? Bounty, after we burned down their tobacco fields?” Arthur chimed.

“There’s no need for doubting, now, is there?” Micah replied, Arthur ignoring him.

“He’s right, Arthur.” Dutch stepped forward, placing a hand upon his son’s arm. “Will you trust me?”

Exhaling softly, he glanced up at the other man, the slightest bit of a pout at his lips. “I trust you. I ain’t trust _him._ ” He complained, gently nudging Dutch’s hand from his sleeve. “All right, fine. S’long as you think this is gonna be quick.”

“Gonna be like buyin’ candy from the general store, son.” Dutch beamed, patting Arthur’s shoulder as he made his way with Micah towards where their horses were stationed.

“Don’t mess this up, now, Mr. Morgan.” Micah had raised his voice at one point or another while he was readying Baylock, Arthur glancing up from his own steed with a narrow expression at the taunt. “Dutch has been doubtin’ you lately. I can see it in his eyes.”

“All you’re talkin’ to me is nonsense.” Arthur replied, climbing into his saddle, hushing his horse lovingly as he fed her a couple of sugar cubes as a treat for the ride.

“Just remember your place.” Micah said firmly, glaring over at the other man, not giving him too much of a chance to respond. “Sean! Bill! Ride with us. We’re takin’ a little trip into Rhodes.”

Arthur, displeased with Micah giving orders, already started ahead for some air, Sean’s clambering from behind going in one ear and out the other as he tried to focus. Dutch wasn’t actually doubting him, now, was he?

* * *

“Do I really gotta sit back here?” John complained from the back of the wagon, the roll of the wheels against the dirt causing some of his words to grow muffled. Hosea, nonetheless, had heard most of what he had said, releasing a soft chuckle from his lips as he listened in.

“Don’t worry. Just lay back and rest, dear boy.” Hosea called back teasingly, giving a nod of praise towards himself when he heard John cough a couple of more times. He figured the wagon was a good idea now, more than anything else.

Hosea rode for a while, awaiting Arthur to return, keeping quite the fair distance from Rhodes. He wanted to make sure it was safe to keep traveling, especially with how uneven things had gotten with Sheriff Gray and the van der Linde gang. He continued on, gripping at the reins, until he spotted a shape in the distance, perking up when he realized who it was. “It’s Arthur.”

As Arthur began to ride closer, however, Hosea’s smile lessened, until it pulled into a deep frown. Arthur was riding hard, approaching Hosea at max speed, Bill and Micah riding behind him. Something— Or _someone_ was on the back of Arthur’s horse, and Morgan himself was coated in blood. Hosea immediately hoped it wasn’t his own.

He didn’t have the breath to ask what was wrong, shocked upon finally realizing that it was Sean who lay dead at the back of Arthur’s steed.

“They got Sean,” Arthur said, out of breath, unable to look back at the mangled heap of the boy on the back of his horse, half of his head blown clean off, likely with a shotgun. “We ain’t… We gotta get goin’.” He said, his hands shaking where he gripped at his horse’s reins.

“We killed the lot of ‘em, but there might be more comin’. We need to move.” Bill said firmly, and as big and stupid as he was, Hosea agreed with him.

Expression hardening, he directed Bill and Micah to ride back to camp, though he urged Arthur to hop on the wagon with him. Arthur didn’t need to be alone right now, covered in blood, riding alongside Bill Williamson and Micah Bell. Hosea wouldn’t allow it.

John was silent from the back of the vehicle. In fact, all of them had been the entire ride back, Hosea not prying or questioning once. Bill had taken Sean and placed him on Brown Jack while Ayla had followed along, the mare seemingly grateful to get farther and farther away from Rhodes after such a massacre.

* * *

Arthur sat towards the shore of Clemens Point, feeling awfully heavy for the day he had just had. Hosea and Dutch hadn’t been heard arguing since he got back, and Arthur easily assumed it had been hard to even say anything to one another with the loss of someone like Sean. He never would have admitted it out loud, but he _liked_ Sean. As much the drunken, crazy bastard he was, Arthur had a laugh whenever spending time with him, his mind returning to the party they had thrown him just weeks ago. Even then, times seemed different. Horseshoe Overlook had some sense of hopefulness, and yet, now, here they were, one man shorter, the camp gloomy and silent for the remainder of the night. Most had gone to bed early, aside from Karen, who had a bottle in her hand since she had been given the news.

As much as he felt selfish for believing such a notion, Arthur hoped now that Dutch would take this loss as something to wake up to, and really push hard to get the rest of the gang members to safety. Arthur was positive he couldn’t take another loss.

With the smoke of his cigarette curling up in front of his face, Arthur brought it up to his lips, inhaling slowly, his pupils grazing across the foggy horizon of rippling water. The moon was a hazy reflection on Flat Iron Lake, causing Arthur to grow deeper within his thoughts, only shaken from them when he heard the sand move beside him, someone joining the spot next to him.

He felt distaste grow within his mouth upon settling his eyes on Micah. He was hoping for Charles, but not even Mr. Smith would sit so unceremoniously upon the sand as Micah just had.

“You’re stressin’ too much, Morgan.” Micah drawled, a bottle of his own within his hands, but he wasn’t drunk. The slightest stench of whiskey lay in his breath, perhaps the very beginning of his drinking for the night. Maybe even early morning. Arthur wasn’t sure what time it was.

“What the hell do you want?” Arthur grumbled, tossing his cigarette aside and into the wet sand, bringing his knees up half-way to lean forward, propping his elbows upon them.

“My, can’t we just be friends for once?” Micah rose a brow. “I never really understood why you hated me.”

“Blackwater’s only a start.” Arthur huffed out.

“I already told you, I _know_ that was a mistake.” Micah rolled his eyes in response, tipping back the amber liquid to practically down the bottle, setting it down into the sand between he and Arthur. “I’m making it up to Dutch. I _will_ make it up to him.”

“That’ll be the day.” Arthur complained. “Kiss Dutch’s ass all you’d like. Family is family to him, Micah, and whoever don’t fit in, ain’t gonna.” He said sharply.

Micah released a chuckle now, seemingly dark despite the developing drunkenness to his tone. Arthur just couldn’t tell as to why it allowed goosebumps to crawl his skin. Micah, in general, had made him uncomfortable, near all-the-time. “Hold yourself to those words, Arthur.” He replied, planting a firm hand on Arthur’s shoulder, gripping at it with a sly smirk. “Those words just might come back to bite you.”

Arthur could feel like he could breathe again when Micah stood, patting his shoulder just a couple of more times before he had stumbled off to his tent. Next time, he figured it’d be useless to even spare him the light of day.

He sat a little longer beneath the night clouds, and with the bottle of whiskey sitting next to him in the sand, he began to wonder just what Charles might be like when drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow... Sorry for the very delayed chapter, and a shorter set of words as well. I hope you've all been okay, and that the holidays have been treating you nicely.
> 
> I just wanted to plaster a warning right here, if you've made it this far... After some steady brain-storming, I've decided this fic is going to get a lot darker (angst still present) as the later chapters go on. I've got a lot of ideas floating around that I'd love to try, but I want to make sure my readers understand before continuing. The tags have been now fully updated, so, take that into consideration. (I may as more as time goes on.)
> 
> A happy ending still awaits! I feel now I can probably call this a full-blown fic, but still won't due to how many in-game scene I'm skipping despite me wanting them to be present throughout. Almost leaving some of it up to interpretation.
> 
> More to come soon. <3


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